


Walk It Off

by Eboni_A



Series: The Walk It Off Universe [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-16 09:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 45,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11250618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eboni_A/pseuds/Eboni_A
Summary: “If you die… walk it off.”  Pietro Maximoff thought that was a joke, until he died and had to follow through. Wanda’s determined to be his caretaker, and learns that she’s “walking it off” as much as Pietro is when it comes to accepting help, new family and change. (This is an alternate ending to the movie and the first in a series.)





	1. Forty-Eight Seconds

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction, meaning I do not own any Marvel characters or concepts used or mentioned in this story. That said, please enjoy the story!

_Wanda Maximoff_

 

For forty-eight gut-wrenching seconds I am alone.

A metal vice grip reaches into my chest and rips out my heart, squeezing it until it bursts. I can’t breathe. I feel blood filling my chest, rushing up into my throat, spilling from my lips. I choke and gasp, dropping to my knees, clawing at my ribcage. Torn, I’m being ripped open. Pain, pain, it hurts, it burns, it’s cold, I can’t breathe, can’t feel my legs, my arms. It’s dark, cold…

And I’m alone.

The pain’s gone. I can breathe. I touch my chest, and feel the cool fabric of my dress, whole, not torn. No blood. It’s not dark or cold. The sun glares down at me through the ruins of the building. The machine I guard blows hot air, making me sweat, but I shiver.

/Pietro?/

Fear strikes me so hard I gasp, then gag. /Pietro!/ Emptiness. A void where he’s supposed to be—where he always is. /Pietro! Pietro!/

I’m alone.

No. No. No.

This can’t happen—it won’t happen—I’m not alone—I won’t be alone—I can’t be alone—he’s supposed to be there—always with me—I need him with me—he needs me with him—he can’t be alone—we aren’t supposed to be apart—I shouldn’t have sent him away—he wanted to stay with me—he’d be okay if he stayed—it’s my fault—did I kill him?—is he dead—he’s not dead—no… no… no… no… No… NO… NONONONONO  
My fists slam the ground, concrete cuts into my skin. I feel blood, mine, not his. Power—strength—shoots out of me, draining me, exploding into the ground. The earth quakes, a flash of red hurts my eyes as my head swims. Dizzy—am I bleeding?

I hear myself breathing, loud and ragged.

The ground stills beneath me.

Forty-five seconds…. Forty-six seconds… forty-seven seconds….

Pain grips me. The holes in my chest reopen. Ah—ah—ah—blood in my lungs, can’t breathe… /Pietro?/

Can’t breathe…

/Yes, yes, you can, Pietro. Yes, you can. I’ll help you./

I don’t know how to do it again, to send more energy. I stagger to my feet, wobbling for a few seconds before stumbling forward, out of the building. Who cares about Ultron’s damn machine? /I’m coming, Pietro./

I feel him struggling. He’s hurting, dying, choking on blood—but I also feel flesh trying to knit itself back together. His body’s trying to heal itself. My legs become steadier with each step. I pick up speed until I’m running. Pietro’s presence is a blazing beacon in my mind. I feel it as I near him. I round a corner and see him on the ground. The Avengers—Hawkeye and Captain America—kneel on either side of him, turning him onto his back, pressing down on wounds.

“Pietro!” I scream. I throw myself down beside him. His face is gray, his eyes stare heavenward. It’s like he’s dead, but no, I feel him. He’s trying. His body’s trying.

“Wanda, I’m so sorry,” Captain America says. I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I flinch away, leaning to place my cheek on Pietro torn, bloody chest.

“Pietro, please hear me brother. Please hear me,” I murmur in Sokovian. “You cannot leave me here. You’re all I have. I feel you still here. I feel you fighting. Don’t let go. I won’t let go. Your body is fast and strong. You can heal. You can heal.”

“Wanda.” Hands pull at me. “We’re so sorry. He got in the way. He saved me and this kid here. He…”

“He’s alive,” I sit up, glaring at the Americans, blood sticky on my cheek and matting my hair. “You must get him to a doctor! Now! Take him!”

“Wanda…” Captain America starts.

“Now!” I shout. “I’ll deal with Ultron! You take him, now! Save him!”

“He’s…” Hawkeye tries to touch me again and I feel power stir within me.

“Lift my brother, take him to your craft and stop the bleeding,” I say through gritted teeth, “or I will blame you for his death.”

They stare, but say nothing else. Captain America lifts my brother in his arms like he weights no more than a child, and takes him away, hopefully heading for the carrier flown in by SHIELD. I rise, not caring that Hawkeye is still here.

“Your brother was a hero,” Hawkeye says.

“My brother is a hero,” I growl, and stalk forward, eyes following the falling star that is Ultron. The metal body crashes into a subway car. This story ends now. “Go away Clint Barton,” I whisper. I feel him hear me, and then feel him retreat. I don’t reach for Captain America’s mind. I don’t want to know that he thinks I’m crazy, that Pietro is dead.

I only want to feel Pietro’s heart.

It’s slow and faint, but it beats.

Forty-eight seconds.

For forty-eight seconds I was alone, and Ulton will suffer for all of those seconds before I end him. I enter the train, studying Ultron’s prone form with a slow smile.

“Wanda,” Ultron croaks. I tilt my head. Does he have the nerve to sound sad, remorseful? “If you stay here, you’ll die.”

“I died once today already,” I drawl. “I was gone, torn apart, drowned in my own blood. Do you want to know what it felt like?”  
Ulton’s red eyes glow as he watches me, the robot’s expression almost human. Not fearful, but resigned.

“It felt like this.” I kneel beside him, extending a palm and pull with my power. His metal heart of wire, oil, and code breaks free from his chest plate and glides into my hand. The red glow from his eyes fades, the power cut, and the robot slumps.

I reach for Pietro with my mind. I want to feel his heart.

Slow. Faint. It beats once. Twice. Stops. Then beats again.

I wonder if anyone else besides me knows he’s still alive.

Doesn’t matter. If they don’t, then he’ll die again, but this time he won’t be alone. The subway cart falls as the piece of Sokovia levitating above the earth plummets. We’ll die together, Brother.

I close my eyes, concentrating on the awful sensation of falling, when it stops. Strong arms wrap around my body. I open my eyes, gazing into the red face of the Vision.

“You will not die today, Wanda Maximoff,” the Vision says softly, “and neither will your brother.”

At those words, exhaustion rolls over me. There’s nothing left to keep me awake, my muscles are limp, tired. Dead. But the Vision said I won’t die—Pietro won’t die.  
“Sleep.” The whisper soothes me.

Forty-eight seconds…

…is all it takes for me to fall asleep.


	2. Weapon

_Clint Barton_

I’ve seen a lot of shit in my lifetime. And you know what, I hate talking about my lifetime like it’s over, or I’m old. But hell, sometimes I feel old, especially when I’m sitting in the waiting room of the medical ward after visiting a comatose teammate who’s way too young to be here. Shouldn’t have been out there. We should have left the damn kids behind. Nineteen years old. Sure they’re old enough to join the army, old enough to move out, go to college—new adults. New adults die all the time, but never for me.

I was supposed to die. I’d known it was my time, but that damn kid had to upstage me. And the other kid, his sister, I’d thought she was gonna kill me for letting it happen. I’d thought she’d gone off the deep end when she said her brother was alive—is alive.  
Because he is, alive that is. Barely. The doctors call it stasis. His body moves at rates blinding to the eye, of course it heals that fast too, but it takes a lot of energy. Even with the help of the cradle we’d had transported to headquarters, the kid’s injuries are so severe his body’s in shock from the energy healing sucks out of him. I’ve seen plenty of people on life support. The oxygen, tubes, bags and beeping machines don’t bother me, but they scare the other kid—Wanda. Every day a new machine gets added to the mix keeping her brother alive, she becomes more of ghost. Paler, gaunter, maybe dying inside, just like her twin.

I’m not losing two kids on my watch. I’ve seen way too much shit in my lifetime. I don’t want to see more. I rub my stomach as I slump in the waiting room chair. The synthetic skin itches sometimes, like my body’s reminding me it’s not natural. I sigh and gaze at the clock on the wall, it’s about midnight. I’d gotten off the phone with Laura and the kids an hour before—sometimes the time difference thing really works out—giving them long distance kisses and telling short bedtime stories. It’s become my evening routine since leaving Sokovia almost one week ago: call family, and then wait for Wanda to come out of Pietro’s room for the night.

Pietro’s team of doctors, one from Dr. Cho’s practice in Korea, set the visiting hours. I mean all Pietro does is lie there, but the docs claim he can hear us, and his brain spikes all kinds of patterns when we talk to him. So, he’s not resting when company’s in the room, unless the company’s Wanda. Even I notice how Pietro’s vitals smooth out when his sister holds his hand or strokes his hair or just talks—to anyone really, not just to him. Think he’s comforted by the sound of her voice, and she knows it. If she hadn’t nearly passed out last week from not taking care of herself, the doctors would probably move Wanda into Pietro’s room.  
But Wanda needs breaks. The door to Pietro’s room opens, and the girl comes out, thin with dark circles under her eyes. She chafes her arms and pulls her sweater tighter around herself. I snort at the sweater. It’s Maria’s and too big for the girl. Someone needs to take Wanda shopping, let her try stuff on and get her own clothes. Turns out neither twin had suitcases full of stuff from home. Turns out they don’t have much of anything but a few changes of clothes, and an old photograph of their family.

  
I sit up straight and stretch my arms over my head. “Ready to go?” I ask. Her sad blue eyes train on me and she nods slowly. I rise and let her walk past me, before I follow. SHIELD’s letting Pietro be treated in the medical ward reserved for agents—and Avengers. The smile on my lips tastes bitter, teenage Avengers. Hope it doesn’t become a trend.

“Clint,” Wanda says. She still hesitates when she says any of our first names. She won’t say what makes her so nervous about it, but I think it has something to do with us being the enemy not long enough ago for her. I don’t know that she’d open up as much as she does to us, if Pietro wasn’t so bad off. I don’t know the kids, didn’t know them before, and I doubt what I’m seeing of Wanda now is the real her to get to know, but instinct tells me they’re tight-knit, exclusive types. Doubt they have or had any friends but each other.

I fall into step beside Wanda.

“I…” she stammers. “I appreciate what you do, waiting to walk me to my room. But really, it is unnecessary. Nothing will happen to me from this side of the facility to another.”

I shrug. I never thought that it would, or that she couldn’t handle it if something did. “I’m making sure you actually leave. I can’t make sure you sleep when you go to your room, but it’s something.”

She swallows and nods, clasping her small hands in front of her. “I would rather sleep near my brother.”

“You don’t sleep when you’re with him,” I state. I’ve seen it. She watches him the entire time they’re together. She’ll talk to other people, but her eyes always go back to her brother, as if he’ll breathe his last while she’s not watching. And that’s not fair, because he was almost killed while she wasn’t watching.  
She’s guilty, like me. The kid shouldn’t have gotten hurt for me. And I hadn’t believed Wanda when she said he wasn’t dead. If I hadn’t let Steve go through the motions like Wanda insisted, if I’d really pressed that Pietro was dead and Wanda was crazy, well then, the kid would really be dead. That doesn’t sit well on my stomach.

Hah. I get on Wanda about not eating enough, and my wife gets on me. Guilt shrinks my appetite to nonexistent. I eat enough to stay functional, but it’s not healthy. Who am I to pick on this girl about food …or sleep for that matter? Do I sleep any more than she does?  
Probably. I get a few hours in before the nightmares strike, and I end up working out for a few hours before breakfast. I wonder how many hours she gets in.

“It’s cold here,” Wanda says suddenly and I start, looking at her. She stares straight ahead as we walk toward the elevator. “This place. It’s cold, like Strucker’s lab, like Hydra. This is a place to make weapons. I belong here.”

I frown at her, surprise and worry ringing through me. Where’s this coming from? “You’re not a weapon, Wanda.”

She gives me a humorless half smile. “Oh yes, I am. I wanted to be, so Strucker made me. I wanted to hurt the people who hurt me.” She shakes her head. “I am the selfish one. I—Pietro says he wants what I want, because we are the same, but he is not. He seeks to please, he wants me happy. He wishes to protect me. He follows my lead and he does what I tell him. He thinks what I want is more important than anything he wants. He should not be a weapon, Clint. He should not be here.”

Can’t argue with that last part; Pietro shouldn’t be here, but, “Neither should you, Wanda,” I say. “You’re both just kids. You should be in college thinking about keg parties and studying for finals.” Normal stuff.

She frowns at me, brows drawing together. “What is a keg party?”

I snort back a chuckle. “Something you don’t need to know about. Nah, you shouldn’t be thinking about keggers. You’re a good girl.” Poor kid. What would she know about things like that? “But you should be in school somewhere.”

Wanda continues to frown and shakes her head. “School… is not mandatory in Sokovia like I hear it is here. Pietro and I, we read and write, but there was no real school for us. Not since our parents. There was no one to pay for it after that.”

I blink at her. No school since… “Your parents, they—didn’t they die when you were 10?”

Wanda nods. “My brother and I, we were always advanced. We were at a higher level than most children our age. But, we were only a few years short from when we would have stopped going anyway. There was no money for secondary school. We would have taken jobs.”

I stare at her. I shouldn’t be shocked. Sokovia isn’t a rich, well-developed country. It’s a war-torn place of villages and dirt roads with mules for transport in places. Only the cities are semi-modern, but the wealthy are few and far between. That’s how a couple of kids slip through the cracks and end up science experiments for Hydra scum.

“How long were you with Hydra?” I ask.

“Since we were 15,” Wanda says. She looks thoughtful then. “They did try to give us school there. They made us read and write and taught us history, when we weren’t…” She trails off, eyes going dark and haunted.

Anger builds in my chest and I clench my fist, thinking about my special arrows made for gauging out eyeballs. I’ll use those next time we go against Hydra. Might make me feel better.

We reach the elevator. Wanda goes in first, then I follow and press ‘8’, the dormitory floor. The medical ward is on the ground floor, closest to the generators and underground evac routes. I use the dorms when I’m on extended missions. Technically, I’m not anymore, and can go home, but… after all this with the twins and Bruce and Nat, I have to stay around. Nat’s still a mess about Bruce, Bruce is still gone, Thor’s still got his mission, and the Vision is still a damn mystery. The team needs me. And the twins—I can’t leave with Pietro so unstable. Not after what he did, not after sitting with his lifeless-seeming body on a transport vehicle, not after Wanda breaking my heart with stories about their past.

The elevator ride seems slower than usual tonight. Wanda leans against the wall, eyes closed, face drawn. “I wish I didn’t have to leave him at night.”

“Hm?” I watch her.

“He has nightmares, worse than I ever have,” she says. “He dreams of our parents falling through the floor, and of being trapped—except he dreams that we die. Sometimes, he dreams that I fell through the floor too. We’ve slept in the same room always. I…” she bites her lip, “don’t know if he has nightmares now, though. His mind is empty, here but not here. He feels more at peace when I’m near, but nothing more.”

That piques my interest. “You can talk to him telepathically, right?” I ask.

She nods. “That was my first power. Pietro and I, we are close, but when I was 16 the power came, and it linked us. At first, Strucker thought it was a power for both of us because we are twins, but no. Only for me. But it brings me closer to my brother. I can link to anyone, but I want to be linked to him.”

She looks at me with watery eyes. “I cannot lose him, Clint. He died in Sokovia, he died saving you. I felt it, but I wouldn’t let him go. I made him come back to me.” She looks up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly and my insides do a strange dance.

What’s she talking about?

She hugs herself. “Strucker, Hydra, no one truly knows what I can do. With each new test, it seemed I could do something different. We were still learning when you came. The scientists were going to take us underground. You would never have found us, but I…” She shakes her head and hugs tighter. “Tony Stark and the Avengers were outside the walls, and I wanted to hurt Tony Stark and his precious team. So, I told Pietro I wanted to fight, and, well, he does what I tell him. It’s my fault this happened. Everything: Pietro, Ultron… I did it.”

The elevator stops and the door dings, Floor 8.

She stares at anything but me as I stare a hole through her. I place a hand on her shoulder and squeeze, not letting go until she looks at me. Her face is wet with tears. “Wanda…” I reach for eloquence, look for the right words, try to channel my wife, but I get, “bad shit happens to everyone. We’d be here forever pointing fingers if we wanted to call out everybody to blame for everything. But what would that help? What does it change? Nothing. Cuz the shit done happened, so let’s just clean up and do better next time, huh?”

She blinks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

I’m used to that look. I’m married.

“Look, your brother loves you so much he’ll do anything for you. That’s not your fault, and hell, you’ll do anything for him, right?”

She nods, wiping her eyes with the heels of her palms.

“Then, you’re okay.” I hit the ‘close door’ button on the elevator car to keep the doors from opening. “As for your powers…”

“I’m weird?” Her smile is weak, but genuine.

Telepathy, mind-screwing, telekinesis, glowing red shit that shoots from her hands, and now she says she thinks she resurrected Pietro? “Huh.”

“Are you afraid?” she asks. She looks so young and hurt, like one wrong word could shatter her.

“Not of you.” I squeeze her shoulder again. The day Clint Barton is afraid of kids is the day Clint Barton retires and starts driving a tractor full time. “Hey, I fight robot armies on flying cities with bows and arrows. Do I seem like the type who scares easy? You’re in the right place, kiddo. Just wish you were a lot older. No matter what you say, this isn’t a place for kids.”

“Strucker called us children too. We are not children. If your parents approve, you can marry at 14 in Sokovia. You can take a paying job at 12. In the eyes of our people, Pietro and I have been adults for seven years.” She shrugs. “This place where I am a weapon is better than any other place we’ve been.”

“You’ll stay after Pietro gets better,” I confirm. I’ve known that all along, but it doesn’t make me happy.

“As you said on the flying city, the minute you step through that door, you’re an Avenger.” She smiles at me. “You cannot take that back, Clint. I am an Avenger, and when Pietro is better, I will train with the team.”

“You don’t think Pietro will join the team?” I ask. Of course he will. In fact, as far as any of us are concerned, he joined the team in Sokovia.

Wanda looks away. “I do not want him to. I will tell him this, but he will stay because I am here. He will fight, because I do. But it will be a while before he is in any shape to do this.”

I nod. “He’s a mess.”

She sighs. “But he won’t leave me.” With another smile, she departs, going in the direction of her room. “Goodnight Clint.” She slowly moves out of sight, but before she’s out of earshot, I hear her whisper, “Thank you.”

I shake my head and grunt, scratching the back of my neck. Damn kids. I head for my usual room, ready to crash for a few hours before the nightmares hit. Too tired to think anymore about abused kids and work. I’ll have to think about it all again soon enough. Three hours of a sleep, lots of coffee, lots of weight-lifting and running.

Yup, definitely way too much shit in my life.


	3. Selfish

_Wanda Maximoff_

            “Please, you must eat.” I hold the Styrofoam cup of warm broth to Pietro’s chapped lips and sigh in frustration when he turns his head away. So pale he’s gray, so thin the hospital gown slips from his bony shoulders; his eyes are sunken and ringed with circles so dark they seem bruised. He looks like a corpse, like he died after all and I’m pretending with a decaying shell.

            Two weeks after Ultron and Sokovia, my brother wakes, for a few hours at a time, always exhausted, always in pain, always thinking he’s died and having to be reminded that he’s alive. The doctors call him a miracle of science. His enhanced metabolism preserved him in Sokovia, his cells working at inhuman rates to repair the damage done by the bullets, and the cradle brought here helped boost the process. Unfortunately, now the doctors say Pietro’s body is in a dangerous catabolic state and is feeding on itself, breaking down muscles and organ tissue for nutrients. 

            “Pietro.” I set the cup of soup down and touch his cheek.  His skin is cold and clammy. “The doctors say the feeding tube is not enough. You must eat and drink to become healthy again. Please. I can get you something else. What about…” I rack my brain. The nurses say Pietro cannot have solid food yet, and my brother is no fan of liquid diets. “What about a milkshake from one of those disgusting American fast-food places?” There is—was—a McDonald’s where we’d lived in Sokovia. I found it revolting, but for little money we could split meals. Pietro had liked the milkshakes. “I hear McDonald’s is better in America. Clint or Steve will go for you.”

            Clint and Steve. It is strange to call these people by their first names. No, not these _people_ , these _friends_. They’ve all been so nice.  They seem to forget that I’m the reason there was Ultron. They all think of me as a girl who needs guidance. If letting them think this means they’ll accept me and help care for my brother, then fine.  I am not enough for Pietro right now.

            My stomach clenches. I’ve never not been enough. Through everything with Strucker and Hydra, the experiments, the nightmares, our parents, the war—I’ve been enough. We’ve never needed other people.  It was better that way, no other attachment to keep us from doing our part.

            But what is our part again? First it was to stop Stark, and then it was to stop Ultron, now it is to stop others from being hurt like we are. Maybe our part was always the same as it is now. We were wrong to make it personal.  We thought so small.

            Pietro sighs, turning his face into my hand.  I run my fingers against the stubble on his cheek. In the labs, no one cared what we looked like. Surviving the next test was the sole objective of our being, while ignoring the bodies of those who didn’t survive. There was no shaving or haircuts. My hair grew long and wild and Pietro became scruffy.      

            “Do you want the milkshake?” I ask him.

            His heavy-lidded eyes focus on me, dull and tired. His voice is a raspy whisper, “No.”

            “Then you will drink the soup?” I reach for the cup again.

            “No,” he breathes.  His entire face flinches, eyes squeezing shut, lips thinning. I open myself to the pain and nausea radiating from him, and grip one of his hands. “Can’t,” he gasps out.

            Helplessness surges through me. I don’t know what to do. He feels too ill to eat, but not eating makes him worse. “You’ll feel better if you eat,” I say, massaging his hand. “You are so sick because your body is feeding on itself”—and the sedatives in his IV make him queasy.Pietro swallows convulsively, as if he’s choking back gags, and then sends me a pleading look, his blue eyes watery. He wants me to stop, but I can't. “For me, _drag_ _ă_. You must eat for me. Try,” I say.

            Something sparks in his eyes when I say “for me”. He doesn’t like to let me down, never has. Anything I ask of him, he’ll do. But what does he want? I don’t think I’ve ever asked him, because he’s never really objected to anything I suggest. A few grumbles, a few eye rolls, but never “No, Wanda”, not for long anyway. I fight back the memory of him arguing to stay by my side in Sokovia and how I’d ordered him away. I should let him have what he wants, since what I last wanted killed him. I bite my lip, blinking back tears. I killed him, but I saved him too. “What do you want, _drag_ _ă_?” I stroke his damp curls. “Tell me.”

            He stares at me through those huge, bruised eyes, pain chiseling the angles of his face, making them sharper. It hurts to look at him. I sense his need.  He does want something very badly. That want struggles upward about to break the surface of his thoughts.  He parts his cracked lips, his breath coming out in short pants.

            “Yes?” I urge, ready to spring from my chair beside his bed to get what he needs.

            And suddenly his want sinks back into the pit of his thoughts, his eyes dulling. He swallows between shallow breaths. “Milkshake. Vanilla.”

            My hand pauses in his hair. “That’s… what you want?”

            “Yes.” But there’s no feeling behind it. He’s lying.  Pietro’s not supposed to lie to me. He closes his eyes.

            I hate seeing his eyes close for more than a second.  He looks dead. I keep expecting the medical alarms to go off.  As it is, they chirp constantly, Pietro’s vitals surging and plummeting, seemingly forever in flux.         

            “Pietro, if you don’t want—”

            “I want it,” he sighs and I sigh with him.

            Good, then. Food is good, food will help.  He’ll get better because we both want it. But my stomach stays clenched. He’s in so much pain; he’s so tired and cannot rest. What if…

            “I want what makes you happy,” he whispers.

            I press my lips to his forehead, and then lower his bed into a reclining position. He lies prone, flat on his back in a way he’s never slept in the past. His body trembles and twitches under the thin hospital blankets. The medical alarms chirp and shrill and then calm, as pain spikes and dulls through him as constant and relentless as his unsteady heartbeat.

            “Pietro?” I ask. “ _Drag_ _ă_ , are _you_ happy?”

            He doesn’t open his eyes, continuing to look like a dead person. I want to ask him to open them, to look at me. But it’s not always about what I want. Or is it?

            “Milkshake, Wanda.”

            I kiss his cold, clammy forehead again.

            If what I want this time is for my brother to survive, then so be it. I am selfish, but my want is stronger than his. I will decide.  I rise from my chair and step outside of the room.  The cell phone given to me has several numbers pre-programmed into it.  I press “1” for Clint Barton.  He’s my favorite.

            “What’s up, Wanda? Everything okay?”

            I smile slightly at his easy-going tone. “Hello, Clint.” I glance through the door at Pietro’s unmoving form, and feel strong—strong and selfish—but right. “I was wondering if you could do my brother a favor. He’d like a milkshake, vanilla.”

            “Yeah?” Clint sounds surprised. “He can have that?”

            I shrug, knowing Clint can’t see it. “It’s what he wants. Can you get it?”

            “Sure.”

            “Thank you, Clint.” I disconnect and go back to Pietro’s side, not planning to leave it again for the rest of the evening.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dragă – sweetheart, dear or love (Romanian)


	4. Bonds

_Clint Barton_

            The kid sleeps like the dead after the minor surgery to insert a feeding tube in his stomach. The docs really didn’t want to put Pietro thought it, wanting to wean the kid off all tube feedings, but hell, we couldn’t get him to eat enough and the nose tube wasn’t cutting it. And the nose tube was gross. Not that a tube stuck through a gut isn’t nasty, but it’s the principle of the thing. Who wants their dinner coming up through their nose? Booger burgers?—naw, man, I’m straight.

            I sit in an armchair across from Steve, playing checkers on the end table between us and watching the kid sleep. Wanda, after a lot of arguing, left with Sam and Maria to go clothes shopping. She wouldn’t go for herself, but Sam pointed out that Pietro didn’t have anything to wear either, and out she went. I hope they pick up some other stuff too, maybe some music, some books, something to make the kids feel at home. It’s time they had one.

            “Okay, now I know that move isn’t allowed,” Steve says as I use my newly crowned black checker to jump an entire row of his reds. “You’re cheating, Barton.”

            “Steve, maybe in the 1800s the rules of checkers were more rigid. Less fun,” I say, picking up the red checkers I jumped and dropping them in my red checker pile. I shake my head. Steve’s as bad at checkers as he is at Monopoly.

            “If I got a dollar for every bad joke made about…” He trails off, looking toward the bed and I follow his eyes.

            The kid’s moaning. I get to my feet. “Oh shit, don’t—!”

            Pietro rolls onto his side; his eyes snap open as he gasps and lets out a weak cry. That pitiful noise just about crushes me. Steve gets to the bed before I do. “Hey there. It’s okay.  You’re okay.” Steve places a hand on Pietro’s shoulder, pushing him onto his back again. Pietro stares at Steve like he’s got tentacles for a head. The medical alarms chirp a little louder. Ah damn, the kid’s getting worked up.

            I put my hand on top of his head, ignoring the oily feel of his hair—it’s time for some shampoo, brat. “Relax, Pietro. Remember, you’re an Avenger now.  You’re in our headquarters, in medical. You got hurt in Sokovia.” It’s hell having to remind him every time he wakes up in a panic, but it’s necessary. The chirping alarms go back to being minor annoyances, soft, constant, but not ready to sound ‘holy hell, get the doctor’ sirens.

           Pietro tilts his head to look at me. Worryingly bright eyes slowly focus on me. “Old Man?” he rasps.

           “Right here, brat. How do you feel? You want anything?”

            He winces. “Hurt… everywhere.”

            “Do you want pain medicine?” Steve asks, and I smirk. Steve’s such a boy scout. His big blue eyes look all diligent and attentive.  “Your nurse says we can just press the button on the morphine drip there.” He looks proud to have remembered that.

            “I don’t…” Pietro stammers, blinking rapidly. “It makes me…” Confusion swims in his too-bright eyes.

            Paternal instincts kick in, making me drape the back of my hand against the kid’s forehead. Hot to the touch. I whistle. “And we have a fever. Don’t freak out, kid.” I roll down the blanket and pull up his hospital smock. One of the nurses was nice enough to get him some drawstring pants to go along with the flimsy ass-flashing gown, so I don’t feel like a total pedophile. The PEG in his stomach looks okay, the insertion site’s a little pink, but it’s still healing.

            “What are you doing?” Pietro mumbles.

            “Making sure you’re not infected,” I say, pulling the gown back down. I glance at Steve. “Looks fine. Maybe go get the nurse?”

            Steve nods. “I’ll be right back.”

            I tuck the blankets around Pietro’s shoulders after Steve leaves the room and pop a squat in a chair onside the bed, Wanda’s preferred seat.  “So, Wanda went shopping,” I say conversationally. “She’s supposed to be getting stuff for you too. Clothes, shoes, that sort of thing. Maybe some more stuff.”

            “Why?” he asks.

            I turn to him, putting my arms on the bed and resting my chin on them. “Because you don’t have anything. That outfit you had in Sokovia is full of holes, kiddo. And your sis’s been wearing borrowed stuff. You can’t walk around in public in that hospital get-up, and you know girls, they like clothes that fit.”

            “We don’t…” Pietro’s voice fades and he coughs lightly. “Too many things, they get lost. Can’t carry too much.”

            I study him, pale, skinny kid with eyes too big for his thin face. Maybe it’s something about being a parent, but everybody under 25 looks like a damn baby to me. “You won’t have to carry it, kiddo. You can keep it in your dorm. You and your sister are gonna live here for a while.”

            “Dorm? Live?”

            I’m losing him. His eyelids droop.

            “You passed your Avenger audition, kid,” I remind him.

            “I don’t… understand,” Pietro mumbles, licking his dry lips. “What about… Ultron?”

            “Gone,” I say. I touch his forehead again. The kid’s really burning up. It’s frying his brain. “You did good. You saved my ass out there. I couldn’t have survived being shot full of holes, but you…” I laugh lightly. “You’re amazing.”

            “No,” Pietro coughs. His eyes open wide, bright and fearful.  “I didn’t…” He swallows and gasps. His chest moves rapidly, the medical alarms chirp a pitch higher.

            “Hey, hey…” I reach out and grip a bony shoulder. “You’re okay. Calm down.”  
            “I died,” he chokes. “It… it was cold and then there was nothing. I felt—I…” Tears leak from the corners of his eyes.  “How did…?”

            “Listen kid, your metabolism is fast as shit, okay? It was working the whole time you went under. It was touch and go for a while, but you came back online.” I rub his shoulder and glance at the doorway. Where the hell’s Steve with that nurse?

            “What did she do?” Pietro murmurs.

            “What did who do?” I ask.

            “Wanda.” Pietro focuses on me. “The lab. They stopped with me, but kept on with her. She… doesn’t know about it all.”

            My body goes cold. “What?” I frown. Wanda had said no one knew the full extent of her powers, that they were still testing her, but “What do you mean she doesn’t know about it all?”

            “I see them,” he breathes. “Can’t stop them.  But they say… they say…” his accent comes on stronger.  “They ask… if I want her to be strong. Of course I say yes. So they say don’t fight.  They take her away from me for long time. She can’t remember. They had another person—a woman. They take her and Wanda at same time.  Woman came back before Wanda… dead.”  He gasps and flinches. “Hurt. It…”

            I go for the morphine drip. The kid can’t put up with this much longer.

            “No!” he cries, looking at the IV like it’s a monster. “Nightmares. No.”

            “Okay, all right. I’m not touching it. Calm down.” I hold up both hands so he can see them. His back arches off the bed and he moans. Oh God. Where the hell is Steve?

            The medical alarms chirp like crazy, and finally a siren goes off, a dull wail that sends an emergency signal right to the nursing station.  Steve bursts through the door with a black-haired male nurse. The nurse rushes to the bed, taking Pietro’s vitals and shouting questions at him.

            In the blink of an eye, more medical personnel hustle into the room.  I get crowded out, my back to the wall next to Steve.

            “What happened?” Steve demands.

            I shake my head. “He was getting worked up, and he’s hurting bad, but he doesn’t want morphine. It gives him nightmares.”

            Steve nods. “I had some of the worst piss your pants nightmares on that stuff.”

            “Hah, me too,” I snort, and then a slow smirk works itself on my face as I realize something. “Steven Rogers, I ought to have my wife wash your mouth out with soap.”

            “Shut up, Barton,” Steve groans, punching me lightly in the shoulder.

            We stand quiet, watching the medical team work on Pietro. Someone turns the alarms off. Good. They’re annoying. Every now and again, Pietro whimpers, and each whimper is a stab in the abdomen, because I can’t do anything to help.

            A nurse rifles through a supply cabinet next to IV poles and pulls out several cans of Ensure, handing it to another nurse. They load the formula into a little machine and attach a catheter.

            “They’re feeding him? Right now?” Steve asks.

            I shrug. “I guess.” Is all that agony just from being hungry? But then again, I’ve never felt my body devour itself, and it certainly doesn’t sound like a massage. The poor kid’s starving to death in front of us.  For normal people, starving takes three weeks, for Pietro, it’s three hours.

            The black-haired male nurse who’d come in with Steve makes his way to us. “Gentlemen, this is going to take a while. Perhaps you may want to go elsewhere.”

            “Is he okay?” I snap. I can’t leave him like this. I look over at Steve and bet the look on his face is the same one on mine. “Why’s it gonna take a while?”

            A flash of irritation crosses the man’s face, and I’ll knock his front teeth out if he gives me anything but the answers to my questions. “Mr. Maximoff’s organs are slowly shutting down due to lack of nutrition. We’re going to do 30 minute feedings every hour for the next six hours, and we’re administering a narcotic to act as a sedative and painkiller for the time being. He’ll sleep for the rest of the day.”

            I raise an eyebrow.  I kick ass at making scary faces.  I’m pretty sure this nurse isn’t allowed to share all of this information with me, but I fight aliens and robots with bows and arrows. I’m certifiable. Crazy loosens a lot of lips.

            “This kid’s vitals aren’t as good when he’s alone, and his sister isn’t here,” I say. “He uh…” I look over at Steve again and Steve smirks at me.

            “He likes you better than me,” Steve says. “I’ve noticed both of them have taken more to you, Papa.” Steve locks eyes with the nurse. “If you need to kick somebody out, I’ll go, but Barton stays until Wanda gets back.”

            The nurse sighs. “It’s not my call. Dr. Park decides. She’s been paged. Take it up with her, but for now…” He gestures at the door.

            I glare and purposefully take the armchair I’d been in before Pietro had woken up. “I won’t bother anybody.”  
            Nurse Jackass—actually his name badge reads “Seville”—huffs and goes back to the clique of medical staff around the bed.

            Steve chuckles. “Bully.”

            I shrug and go back to plucking red checkers off the board. “You can stay too.  Think Nurse Jack’s gonna ignore us for now.”

            “Nurse Jack?” Steve looks confused, and I grin at him.

            “Sit down, Cap, and we’ll start the game over. There’s no way you can win this one.” I reset the entire board, and Steve plops down in the other chair.

            We play quietly as the doctors and nurses who work over Pietro mutter, cuss and demand things from each other. An hour later, things cool off, all but one nurse, a lady this time, remains to personally monitor the kid.            The sound on the medical monitors is back on; the erratic chirps and beeps tell us our brat’s still kicking. I pause in whooping Steve’s ass at yet another round of checkers and make my way over to the kid’s bed.

            True to Nurse Jack’s word, Pietro’s asleep, flat on his back.  His face is drawn, mouth tight. He’s not resting well. “You gotta do better than this,” I say to him and smile lightly as the chirps of the medical alarms even out a little. Take that, Jack. 

I touch Pietro’s forehead. “What’s the fever about?” I ask the nurse—S. Takano.

            She gazes at me, brown eyes a little reverent. Huh, did she see me on the news after New York?  She clears her throat. “A virus, he’s highly susceptible. His immune system is compromised until we stabilize his metabolic rate.”

            “Should we be wearing masks and gloves in here?” Any of us could bring something nasty into the room.

            “Mr. Maximoff becomes agitated when approached by people wearing such apparel, and his agitation—”

           “Makes things worse,” I conclude. When I think about where he could have come up with such a phobia, it pisses me off. Had to have come from being in those labs. “Hang in there, brat.”

           Takano glances over at the monitors, then back at me, seeming curious. “His heart rate and blood pressure came down.”

           “What can I say? I’m popular.”

            “Well, you can sit there,” Takano gestures to Wanda’s chair. “I was only told that Mr. Maximoff becomes more stable when his sister is present. You…”

            “You’d have to be drunk to confuse me with Wanda,” I say. “But you know, the kid’s completely out of it, so maybe.” But nah, I shake my head. “It’s better than this when she’s around, but I think he likes me okay.”

            “You wanna call the game a draw?” Steve asks, fiddling with a red checker.

            “I was winning,” I say. “Let’s just call it your surrender.”

            Steve rolls his eyes and gets to his feet. “You need me to stick around or you good here?” He glances at his watch, then over at Pietro. “I’ve got a meeting in a bit, and I’m sure Wanda will be back soon.”

            I wave him off.  “Get outta here. We’re fine.”

            Steve waves, then frowns as his eyes go to Pietro one more time.  As he passes through the door, he calls over his shoulder, “Call me if he wakes up and wants another milkshake or something, okay?”         

            Huh. Big softie. But hey, pot and kettle. I sit in Wanda’s chair for the second time today.  Pietro murmurs in his native language, like he’s giving someone excuses. He doesn’t stir or twitch, just talks.  I wish I knew what he’s saying, or that Wanda was here to know what he’s saying. I pull my cell phone from my back pocket and check for new texts. A bunch from the kids, a few from Laura. All mundane stuff.  I answer them all and play a few games of Candy Crush for the next hour as Pietro mutters to himself and Takano administers a tube feeding.

            Wanda comes in with two shopping bags a little later.

            “Hey,” I greet her, looking up from my phone. The girl’s windblown with a healthy flush in her cheeks for once. Good, she and her brother look like they lived underground for years—which they did. 

            “Hi.”  She sets the bags down on a chair and comes to the bed, blue eyes wide and worried as she watches Takano monitor the feeding tube. “He is not supposed to be getting this now.  Once in the morning, once in the evening, that is what the doctor said.”

            Takano offers Wanda a friendly smile and explains what happened and what’s going on now.  Wanda loses that healthy flush and turns slightly green.  She reaches out and strokes Pietro’s cheek, then looks at me.

            “Thank you for staying with him,” she says in a soft voice. “I should not have left for so long.” She kisses Pietro’s forehead. “ _Imi pare rau_ , _dragă._ ”

            I shrug. “Nothing doing. So, what’d you buy?” I hate having to appraise the aftermath of shopping trips, but Wanda looks ready to cry.  It pulls my ‘papa strings’ when girls cry. I can’t help but think of my daughter.  It obligates me to cheer this kid up.

            Wanda wipes at her eyes; they’re dry, but maybe the action is subconscious. “What did I buy? Oh—I… just a few things: blue jeans, t-shirts, dresses; some things for him too.  I… have never been to a mall. There were so many stores full of so many things. I didn’t know where to start. I felt…”  She laughs. “I don’t even understand American money, but I did not like having to rely on Maria and Sam to pay for things. I will learn. Maria said that perhaps I can take classes.”

            “You want to?” I ask. “It’d be good. You should get your GED, then go to college.” Get a job that doesn’t sometimes involve fighting aliens and Norse gods.

            Wanda hums thoughtfully. “Maybe, yes. I want to be able to take care of myself. All my life I’ve depended on someone else to help me.” She sits on Pietro’s bed, taking one of his hands. “He always made sure I was okay.” She massages his hand.  “Now, I am the one. I must be better for him.”

            “You act like you think he’s not coming back from this.” I put my phone away and put all my attention on her. “You both will be able to take care of yourselves and each other if the other needs it, in no time.”

            She looks away from me. “Clint.” She squeezes her brother’s hand. “I told you…” her eyes drift to Takano.  “Do you think—would it be all right, if…”

            Takano smiles lightly. “I won’t be far.”  She leaves the room.

            Wanda watches her, making sure the woman’s completely gone before she turns back to me. “I told you what I did in Sokovia. I would not let him go, I gave him no choice.” Teary blue eyes look at me. “I think he wanted a choice.”

            I think about what Pietro said about the lab and continued experiments on Wanda. _“What did she do?”_   Wanda claimed she’d brought him back from the dead with a weird, freaky power no one knew she had and I believed her—still do.  I’m sure Pietro does too. He thinks he died.  But what is she saying? “You think he wanted to stay dead?”

            The silence from her is long and cold.

            “Wanda?” I press.

             A tear rolls down her cheek as she nods. “He hurts so very badly. He does not sleep well, cannot eat, cannot move from this bed.”

            And now she’s crying. I feel like I’m out fighting robots and aliens again, terrified but can’t show it because I’ve got a job to do.  I wish I wasn’t such an ogre with words. My wife would know what to say, hell Steve would, but I don’t think Wanda would talk to him like she is to me now. 

            “Hey, hey, he’s going to get better.  He gets better every week. The doctors are impressed with his progress.” It’s hard to sound optimistic when the kid in question looks like Hell spat him out, but it’s true. He _is_ better.   “Wanda, he’s not coming back from a tonsillectomy, he was shot multiple times through vital organs. Those bullets shattered ribs. Healing is gonna be a slow process, even for him.  If he wasn’t hurting right now, I’d say he wasn’t human.”

            She frowns. “What is tonsillectomy?”

I grin at her. “A surgery to remove infected tonsils. It’s kind of a standard procedure thing for general surgeons. It’s usually a quick surgery and afterward, people eat a lot of ice cream and are back at work a week or so later.”

            “Oh.” She swallows and wipes away more tears.  “That doesn’t… it doesn’t make me feel better.” She gives me the look my daughter Lila does when I mix up the names of her stuffed animals, like she’s pitying me for being dumb.

            “Well, hell, kid. I’m not Hallmark, just stating facts,” I say, flopping back in the chair, relaxing. My stupid’s distracting her from crying.

            “What is Hallmark?” She kisses Pietro’s knuckles.

            “You know, this conversation isn’t gonna work if you don’t get any of my references,” I shoot back.

            “Then don’t use references,” Wanda says. “It’s not fair. I don’t speak to you in Sokovian.  I don’t ask you about your _culoarea preferată_.”

            “My _what_?” This girl better not have just asked me about my sex life.  I’ll wash her mouth out with the soap meant for Steve.

            A beautiful smile brightens her face and makes her look all of fifteen years old. “Your favorite color.” She laughs, a full one that shakes her shoulders, and I can’t help but laugh with her.  I’ve never heard the girl laugh before, not for real. All the shadows vanish from her eyes and a heaviness lifts from her posture. She kisses Pietro’s knuckles again, and suddenly she’s smiling at him.

            “You like my joke, _dragă_?”

            Pietro’s heart rate is steadier than ever. 

            “He likes the sound of your laugh,” I guess.  “Probably been a long time since he’s heard it.”

            And I fail. The smile on her face evaporates and the shadows are back.

“There was never much to laugh about,” she murmurs. “It was terrible thing after terrible thing. Nothing good comes to us.”

            I open my mouth, about to argue that they got us now. But then again, getting us required for one of them to get shot full of holes. “I predict good things from here on out,” I say instead.

            Wanda hums again, then strokes Pietro’s hair and wrinkles her nose.

            “It’s shampoo time, right?” I ask.

            She nods. “I’ll do it tonight. Perhaps…” She studies Pietro’s face “A shave too. I miss his face.  A new look for new clothes.”

            I raise a brow at the return of her smile. “You must have bought some great stuff.”

            “I like it,” she says.  “I think it may have cost too much, but it’s nice. And for him, I buy clothes that fit and don’t look like hand-me-downs. At least I hope they fit, he’s lost weight. I tried to guess, but I may be a little off.”

            “Just keep the tags,” I say. “You can exchange them. It’s what my wife always tells me to do when I buy her stuff.”

            Wanda blinks at me, then that laugh comes again. I smile at her as she leans her head on Pietro’s chest.  She looks up at me after a moment of laughter. “I like your wife, Clint.  She is funny, like you.”

            “Oh, she’s the funny one actually,” I say. “Most people think I lack humor.”

            “No, no, you are funny. Your humor is just very dry.” 

            That’s one way of putting it.  “So, you just bought clothes today? Nothing to fix up that room of yours?”

            “Not today,” Wanda says. “I didn’t want to stay away too long. But next week.  A nice lady—Sharon Carter—she invited me to go shopping with her at a place called Bed, Bath and Beyond.”

  
            Sharon Carter.  I snort.  “That should be interesting.”

            “What? You don’t like Sharon?” Wanda frowns at me.

            “Oh no, I like Sharon just fine. And you know what…” I think about Agent Sharon Carter: nice, determined, tough, and young. Not as young as the twins, but a better match in age than Maria, Sam, Steve or me. Haven’t hung out with her, but maybe Sharon’s fun.  Wanda will find out.  “Good for you, Wanda.”

            She smiles at me.  “I feel as if I keep saying this over and over. Maybe it is because I do, but thank you, Clint.  You make this…” she gestures around the room “easier.  You all do.  You and Steve, and Maria, and Sam, but you most of all. There’s something about you that makes me feel comfortable. I can talk to you.”

            “You need to talk to somebody,” I say, sounding smooth, but I feel rocky. Ugh, I hate this sensitive stuff, but I kinda like it at the same time. I’m not a teddy bear.  Aside from my family and Nat, a lot of people find me difficult to approach.  I don’t open my arms to everybody.  But these guys?  They got a bad deal, tried to make it better, and got burned to hell. I know what that’s like, and life got way better for me. I want these guys to know it gets better.

            I wanna help.

            “I’m here when you need me,” I promise. “This team, you know, it’s more than just a bunch of crazy people out to save the world from aliens and gods and gravity. We’re a family—a dysfunctional family—but we’re in this together.  Never forget that.”

            She tilts her head. “I don’t think I will, not after all this team has done for us.  We will pay you back. We will train hard, and learn what there is to know…”

            “And go to school,” I interrupt, “and find out if there’s anything else out there you might like to try to do.”

            “If we go to school and discover we like something else, and end up leaving here…”

            Before that great smile of hers can fade and the shadows come back, I say, “And having to invite us over for dinner every Thursday night.  Or having to come to my house for dinner every Thursday—when I’m home.  Kiddo, the Avengers done adopted you two; you’re not getting rid of us.”

            Pietro’s monitors blip steady rhythms as Wanda laughs and I tell stories about my kids, the tractor, my original combat suit, and how purple became my least _culoarea preferată_. Purple leather and spandex was a look I never should have gone for. I said I’d burn the pictures before I ever showed anyone again, but I showed Wanda, because I love hearing the girl laugh.

            Steve had called me “papa”, and maybe it sounds dirty coming from a full grown man, but thinking about it with these kids, yeah, yeah I can be Papa Clint. Whatever. I just smile back, and pull up another picture on my phone.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imi pare rau, dragă—I’m sorry, sweetheart.


	5. Settling

_Wanda Maximoff_

            Sharon Carter is slim, blond and pretty, an American girl.  When we enter stores, people do not stare and turn their heads away before she meets their eyes. When she speaks, people do not ask her to repeat herself because they cannot understand her accent. She walks with confidence, talks with confidence, and I am jealous. She is someone who has never suffered: never starved, never feared, was never cold or used.

            But I like her too.

            “Okay,” Sharon says in her take-charge tone, “the dorms are small and kind of drab. So, you’re going to need color, or that place will be depressing. Bright colors, but bold too.  You don’t look like a girl who bathes in pink.” She looks me up and down. I’m wearing a red t-shirt and black jeans. “Red?”

            I shrug.  Any color will do.  This store is full of silk sheets and down comforters with so many designs, floral, tropical, mathematical, in so many colors my eyes literally swim in patterns. There is no way I can decide from all of this what I want. I just want something warm and soft, simple.

            “Too much?” Sharon raises a brow and nods her head toward the aisles of linens, curtains, and blankets.

            “Yes,” I admit. “I am not used to so many…” lavish things. I’ve seen them on TV, but the malls and stores these people have shown me within the past week are overwhelming. “Can we find things without flowers or…?”

            Sharon laughs. “Yeah, we can find a lot of things without frumpy stuff on it.  Come on.  I don’t like designs that are too busy either. I prefer solid colors. Let me show you what I like, and then maybe we can figure out what you might like.”

            She touches my shoulder and I pride myself in the fact that I don’t flinch away.  Touch comes so easily to some of these people. Clint and Steve, they like to squeeze my shoulder or pat my back. It’s the way they comfort each other. And it is not a strange way to comfort another person. I do this with Pietro all the time, but it’s different.

            No matter. I let Sharon guide me to aisles with solid colored comforters and sheets with no patterns. Red is nice, but so is blue, and purple. I finger the different fabrics; some are thicker and smoother than others. But I do not want anything expensive. I had Clint teach me a little about American money. I glance at the price tags and gasp at all of them.

             “These are too expensive!” I say. “I can’t buy any of this!”

  
            Sharon grins at me.  “Yes, you can.  You’re already on the SHIELD payroll.  We got paid today.”   

            “But I haven’t done any work,” I say slowly. “All I’ve done is sit with my brother and… and go shopping.”

            “For Sokovia, Wanda,” Sharon says. “They’re paying you for getting rid of Ultron.”

            I created Ultron—well, I as good as created Ultron by inspiring Tony Stark to do so.  I don’t know how much Sharon knows and I won’t go into her thoughts to get it. I only do that to people I don’t trust.

            “You can buy down comforters and silk sheets with matching curtains,” Sharon says. “But I bet you’re like me when it comes to frill and clutter; there’re better things to spend money on.  You should save up.” She glances at me, her gaze thoughtful. “That said though, this stuff is what you’re going to sleep on. It should be comfortable. Maybe jersey-sheets, they’re not so expensive and they feel so good. Here.”  She grabs a purple cloth bag from one of the shelves and undoes the drawstring top.  Passing it to me, she says, “Touch those.”

            I do as ordered and smile at the soft feeling of fabric under my fingers.  “Oh.” The sheets on my bed now are crisp and thin, serviceable and far better than the starchy sheets in the lab, but nothing like these. “I like them.”

            I take the bag from her. “My brother would like them.” I wonder if they could be put on his bed in the medical ward. Those sheets feel like Hydra sheets. I’ll buy them. “Um…” I gaze at all of the different colors and pull down blue for him. He likes blue.

            “Okay, let’s get some pillow case covers and comforters. Then we can move on to towels and bath robes, and switch stores to get some trinkets. Dorm walls are ugly and boring.” Sharon smiles at me, so friendly-like. I can’t help but probe the surface of her mind, searching for pity and finding none. She’s genuinely enjoying taking me to these places, she sees me as…

            I muffle my sigh, a little sister.  All of these agents and Avengers have this problem. My brother and I are not adults to them. Some of the agents feel sorry for us, and see us as poor, deprived children from a third world country. I don’t like those agents and stay away from them, not that they actively seek my company. Most of the agents who pity us also fear us.

            The ones who don’t feel sorry, are the strange ones, the ones who just like to care for other people. They’re strange, because they don’t feel like nurturing types. They are soldiers, they crave action, adrenaline, but they feel so protective over the people they work with in the field. As Clint said a few days before, they are family to each other, and now Pietro and I are a part of them.

            A warm feeling spreads through me.  I like that, being considered part of a large family. My real family had been large, but the war killed them. Cousins left to fight with different factions and never came back. Aunts and uncles were killed on the streets in crossfire between groups. Parents were lost in bombings. I often wonder why Pietro and I lived to go to Hydra when everyone else died, but Ultron said he knew.

            Ultron was… I shudder.  He liked me, more than Pietro. I think he would have saved me after killing all of man. I close my eyes, trying to block the monster from my mind.

            “Wanda?” Sharon’s voice calls me back to reality.

            I open my eyes to meet her concerned gaze. “I’m all right. I was just thinking.”

            “You do that a lot.”  We reach an aisle of large, thick single blankets. “You get lost in thought and look like you’re in a trance.  There are agents I know who get that look, ones who were military first and fought in wars.”

            “I’ve been fighting in a war all my life,” I murmur.

            “And you want to be an Avenger now?” Her tone is rhetorical. “I would think you’d want to get as far away from fighting as you can get.”

            I give a humorless laugh. “What else can I do but fight? It would be waste for me not to with the things I can do.  But I will be fighting for good and helping other people so that they don’t have to fight. It makes me feel better.”

            Sharon nods. “I look up to people who can say things like that and really mean it.”

            “It is not why you are part of SHIELD?” I ask. “You don’t want to help people?”

            Sharon pulls down a clear plastic bag with a plain purple comforter inside. “Oh, I do want to help. It’s just I didn’t get into this business thinking that. I felt—well, a lot of people in my family were military. I was always intrigued by it and the stories they told. It seemed exciting, movie-stuff, you know. And I don’t think I could settle for a regular job behind a counter or desk. I like action and throwing myself into things most sane people wouldn’t.”

            I laugh. “You enjoy danger.”

            “Yeah, I do.” She holds the comforter out to me.  “Do you like this or is it too matchy-matchy?”

            I frown. “What is matchy-matchy?” I’m starting to think Hydra cut a few corners when they taught us English.

            “Fashion talk, it’s when you have too many items that look exactly the same, same color, same pattern.” Sharon nods to the purple sheets that match the comforter.

            “So, things should not match?” I don’t get it. I like when things match. I didn’t often get a choice when it came to pairing like items. I took what I could get and sometimes I could put together nice outfits that didn’t look random or poor.

            “It’s about what you like,” Sharon says. “I don’t care too much about matchy-matchy either. But sometimes I’m around people who do, so I try to be considerate.”

            We share a smile and I take the comforter. “I like this one. I’d like to get Pietro a blue one to match his sheets. But, unless I start using my powers, I think we will need a shopping cart.”

            “Way ahead of you.” Sharon stakes out an abandoned cart with a single package of sheets in it. After looking left and right, she removes the sheets, tucking them between two bags of comforters on a high shelf and grabs the handle bars of the cart.

            Laughing, I ask, “Is this dangerous?”

            “Oh yeah.” Sharon chuckles. “Grab that blue comforter up there and let’s get away from this aisle before somebody comes looking for this thing.”  

            Still laughing, I take down a blue comforter that matches Pietro’s new sheets, and toss all of our loot into the newly stolen cart, and follow Sharon to the towel aisle.

 

***

Boisterous shouting comes from Pietro’s room as Sharon and I near the door. We’d dropped our shopping off in my room, and then I’d invited her to come and meet my brother. She was so nice to me, taking me shopping and to try real Italian food, I wanted to give her something too. But the only something I have is Pietro.

“Sounds like a party,” Sharon says.

Worry rolls through me. Pietro is too weak for parties. I open the door and rush inside to find my brother sitting up in bed surrounded by Steve, Clint and Tony Stark—of all people—holding a square device with lots of buttons.  A large hologram projecting from a podium in front of the bed hovers in front of the men, full of images of super powered creatures battling each other.

“What is this?” I ask.

“Super Smash Brothers Brawl.” Sharon rolls her eyes.

“What is Smash Brothers?” More English I don’t understand. I gaze at the men and my brother; I don’t think they’ve noticed us.

“It’s a brain draining video game that turns people into zombies,” Sharon says, shaking her head. “It’s kind of fun too.”

I walk around the bed, motioning for Sharon to follow.  Clint and Steve sit on Pietro’s bed on either side of him while Stark sits in a chair. They all move their heads left and right, trying to see around Sharon and me as they continue to play. 

Groans and shouts of “Pause it!”

The video game freezes mid-play.

“Wanda!” Pietro says and my irritation melts away at his welcoming smile. The dark circles are still there, but he’s not so deathly pale, and cleanly shaven he looks more boy than man.

“Hello, _dragă_.” I lean over Clint to kiss Pietro’s cheek, and then place my hand on his forehead: a little warm, still getting over a cold. “I’ve brought a friend to meet you. I did not know you would be having such a… party.”

Pietro’s eyes go to Sharon, but before he can speak again, Tony Stark buts in.

“Oh, sorry, Wanda. All my doing. I wanted to test out this game on my holo and thought well, Pietro can’t be doing anything interesting seeing as his only company today is Legolas and Cap-sickle. So I came on by. I brought gifts. They’re in the closet. Don’t like em’, receipts are in the boxes. Pepper always does that.” He and Clint share a look, and I smirk.

Tony Stark. I have not seen him since Sokovia, and didn’t think I would see him again so soon. Steve said Stark was taking a leave from the Avengers. Why did he really come? I’m tempted to peek inside his mind. I don’t trust him, like I trust the others. He made weapons for money and evil people bought them. His weapons killed my family. But like me, he created a monster and wants to do what he can to make it right. He wants to be a good man.

“Hi Sharon,” Steve says.

Sharon studies him with raised brows. “Steve, you’re becoming a 21st century male. Video games in the middle of the day instead of working? These guys are ruining you.”

“Hey!” Clint exclaims.

“We’re assimilating him,” Stark says. “Assimilation is good. Assimilation is the future. Next assimilation mission will be a rave.”

“I want to go to a rave,” Pietro says and I pinch him. “Ow!”

Stark laughs. “Maybe when your beard grows back, kid. Right now you look about 15.”

“You have to be 21 to get into those kinds of things, don’t you?” Steve looks worried which makes Stark laugh and reach over to clap Steve on the shoulder.

“Lighten up, Steve. He’ll be with me. Tony Stark can get anyone into anywhere in this town.” Stark cringes away from the dark looks given to him by both Steve and Clint, and holds his hands up in surrender. “Yeesh. Calm down, daddies. I’ll have your son back by curfew.”

Pietro frowns at Steve and Clint, then looks to me and past me to Sharon.  “Hello.”

“Oh!” I motion for Sharon to come closer to the bed. “Pietro, this is Sharon, she is Agent 13 with SHIELD.  Sharon, this is my brother.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sharon says kindly. “Wanda told me some about you. How are you feeling?”

Pietro shrugs. “Better than I was. Nice to meet you too.”  His eyes come back to me, and a slow smile spreads over his face. “You had fun, _soră_?”

“Does it show?” I haven’t looked at myself in a mirror since the restroom at the Italian restaurant. I didn’t see anything special there.

“You look happy,” Pietro says. “Good.”

I ruffle his hair. /How are you really feeling?/

_Tired._

/Did you eat?/

The tube feedings are only three times a day for 30 minutes at a time, if Pietro manages to eat all of the small meals he’s brought on the hour.

He’s quiet.

/Pietro…/

_Not as much as the doctors want.  They’re going to give me an extra feeding.  It’s okay._

But it’s not. I always sense something deeper, darker, beneath his words when it comes to his health or nightmares that he won’t share with me. It makes me go back to my conversation with Clint, and I force myself to remember how Clint said Pietro will get better.

I sigh and squeeze onto the bed between Clint and my brother, wanting to be close to Pietro. I snake an arm around his waist and look over at Sharon who’s gazing around the room but looking decidedly uncomfortable.

“Hey, have a seat, Sharon,” Steve calls, patting the bed in front of him. “You can play next round. I’m tired of losing to these guys.”

Sharon snorts and looks dubiously at the crowded bed. “Um… I don’t want to…”

“It’s okay,” Pietro says. “Come, sit. Oh, but I should warn you that I’m sick. These people don’t care because they’re crazy, but you look sane.”

“Ah, correction. I care too,” Stark says. “Hence why I’m sitting in the chair.”

“Oh come off it, Stark,” Steve snaps. “You’re pumped full of so many vitamins you wouldn’t catch a thing off this kid. You’re just funny about human contact.” He turns his head to look at me. “He prefers machines.”

“I prefer women!” Stark says. “Nobody’s on that bed but dudes and underage girls.”

Sharon sits on the foot of the bed and scoots back to be closer to the group. “I’m not underage, Stark.”

“You are to me.” Stark looks her up and down and Sharon makes a face.

“Oh please. You mean to tell me you don’t sleep with women under 30?”

Tony curls his upper lip and turns his head away from her, looking at me. “Your brother’s right, you do look happy. It suits you.”

Resting my head on Pietro’s shoulder, I study Tony Stark.  He has a distinguished handsomeness about him, and even in t-shirt and jeans, he looks wealthy.  In Sokovia, men like him are to be feared. They make their money ‘under the table’: drugs, sweatshops, underpaid laborers.

“Do you want to play?” Pietro asks, pressing the slim device with multiple buttons into my hands. “It’s easy.”

I tear my eyes from Stark to gaze at my brother. /Bored?/

_The game moves slow. It hurts my eyes to concentrate on it for too long._

I take the control, running my fingers over the warm buttons. 

“Hey, hey, Speedy, I was kicking your ass. No fair tagging out. Let me finish the job, then Sparky can play.” Stark waves his control, seeming irritated.

“Sparky?” I ask.

“The red stuff that comes out of your hands,” Stark says. “It sparks like electricity.” He eyes me. “You come up with a super hero name yet? Want me to?  I think you guys should do a group name. Wonder Twins is taken. How about…”

“Shut up, Stark!” Steve groans. “But…” he looks at Pietro, “he does have a point. We need to finish this game with the original players. Unless you’re starting to feel worse, are you okay?”

Now Clint’s looking at Pietro too. He clamps his big hand over Pietro’s brow, and I frown. Pietro doesn’t flinch or tense, he’s calm as Clint checks his temperature and ruffles his hair. It’s strange how well both Pietro and I have gotten used to these people. Months ago, Pietro would have struck Clint for coming too close.

“The fever’s okay, but do you need a break?” Clint asks.

Pietro nods, resting his head on top of mine.

“Sick people time-out,” Clint declares. “Get over it, Stark.”

After a minute of grumbling from Stark, the game resumes. Pietro whispers in my ear that he is the blue, spiky character in red shoes—Sonic the Hedgehog.  I play with the buttons, seeing which ones make Sonic run, jump, and attack. He’s knocked off the cliff twice, returns twice, then falls a final time never to be seen again.

“Haha!” Stark crows.

“Oh, whatever! You can’t cheer about beating somebody who doesn’t know how to play,” Clint says. “Take me on for size.”

“I’m about to,” Stark says.

I grin at three grown men speaking so gravely and concentrating so intensely on making cartoon characters do battle.

“I told you it makes zombies out of people,” Sharon says.

“I suppose I escaped such a fate, though…” I gaze at the screen and then at the controller in my lap. “I do want to try again. I want to learn how to use that glowing ball in the sky.”

“The smash?” Sharon asks and chuckles. “You’re going to get sucked in. I see it in your eyes.”

“You two seem close,” Pietro drawls.  He keeps his head on mine, so I can’t see his face. “What all did you do today?”

“We bought sheets for your bed,” Wanda says. “A set for here, and a set for your dorm room. I want to set it up while I’m setting up mine. There are many things we should have, according to our new family here.”

“Mm…” Clint and Steve hum, still absorbed in the game.

“ _My_ dorm?” Pietro asks, troubled, his body tense.

“What’s wrong?” I sit back, so that he has to lift his head and I can see his eyes. They’re heavy with sadness. “What is it?” I reach out, taking his face in my hands.

“We will live separately?”

Oh. “Our rooms are next to each other.  We’ll just have our own space,” I say. The first week I’d slept alone in the dorm had been frightening—I’m used to the sound of Pietro’s soft breathing near me as I sleep. But I’m getting better at falling asleep and waking up alone.  

“Ah,” he sounds so sad. _I thought that when I got out of here I wouldn’t have to be alone anymore when I sleep. When I wake up and you’re not here, I think I’m dead again._

/If you call for me, sweetheart, I’ll come! Have you tried?/

He stares at me, so tired and miserable.

/Try tonight./ 

He nods and I release his cheeks and press my forehead to his. /We are in a good place now, yeah?/

 _I think so_.

He sits back. Out loud, he says, “What else did you do?”

“I ate chicken parmesan with garlic bread and had tiramisu for dessert.” I recall the rich flavors and share them through our link. I beam as he sighs, his pleasure warm and smooth.

“Do you want any of that, brat?” Clint asks and I blink at suddenly having the man’s full attention again. I glance at the game to see that his character is gone. The two cartoons still fighting belong to Steve and Stark.  “Bet I can sneak you in some dessert at least.”

Pietro licks his lips as I send him more recollections of the coffee and chocolate soaked dessert. It had been so delicious, something Pietro would love. “You should try some,” I say.

“Oh!  No! Cheaters!” Stark jumps to his feet, throwing his control onto the bed and glaring at Steve and Sharon as Steve’s cartoon man stands victorious.

“Steve won?” Clint sounds incredulous, then he laughs as does Pietro.  I follow their gazes and giggle as well.  Sharon holds Steve’s controller.

“Only sick people get to do tag-in’s! That was cheating!” Stark continues to rant. “We do that over!”

“Oh, stop being a baby, Stark. I beat you.” Sharon holds the controller vertical and blows on it like a pistol.

“Sneak smash attacks are unacceptable,” Stark says.  “What happened to needing to finish the game with the originals players, huh, Cap? First it’s swearing, now it’s cheating, next it’ll be lying and stealing! Where have we gone wrong, Papa Clint?”

“You really need to be on medication, Stark!” Clint tosses his controller forward on the bed and taps Pietro’s knee.  “You want dessert or what?  You didn’t eat enough of that crap they brought you for lunch. I don’t blame you, but you need more food.”

“Crap for lunch?” Stark’s moved on from his loss and stares at Pietro who stares back.

_Is he all right?_

/I… think this is normal for him. His mind, when I touched it before, was very random and confusing. And no one else is acting like this is strange./

“Can’t have crap for lunch,” Stark says. “I’ll talk to somebody. We can’t expect anybody to gain weight eating crap, unless it’s from Burger King. You had Burger King, kid? Do they have Burger King where you’re from?” He stops like he’s thinking about something, then, “Nope. No Burger King. I’ll handle the dessert thing, Barton, and no. It won’t come from Burger King,” Stark says, pulling out his cell phone and stepping out of the room.

We all watch his exit, and Clint clears his throat. “Uh… so, this is Tony’s weird way of apologizing to you guys.”

Pietro and I turn to him.

Steve pipes in. “He feels really awful, not that he’ll ever actually say it. And he didn’t just randomly drop by; he called me first to make sure it was okay—which is really out of character for him. The news was showing some footage of Sokovia after the fight, and I guess he was watching it.”

“So he bought gifts?” Pietro asks. “That’s not saying you’re sorry. Though…” he gazes at the video game. “I won’t complain.”

“I told him he needed to talk to you both,” Steve says, eyes wary. “Is that okay? Would you guys want to talk to him? He’s really not that bad a guy, he just… he just acts like a jerk. Deep down he’s really not. Being Iron Man changed him, made him see things for real, I guess. He’s not the same guy who sold bombs and missiles overseas.”

I feel cold. I take Pietro’s hand and lean against him, borrowing his feverish warmth. A coil in my stomach tightens when I think of talking about the past with Tony Stark. I am in happy place right now, thinking about linens and friends. I don’t want to drudge up war, not right now, but it’s not something I can forget.

“I think talking to him might help you,” Clint says. “But if you don’t want to do it, don’t worry about it. You should keep the gifts. Stark doesn’t buy cheap.”

Pietro snorts then coughs and winces. “Ow.” He rubs his chest and glances forlornly back at his pillows. Concern wipes Tony Stark from my mind.

“Do you want to lie down?” I ask. Clint’s already getting off the bed, and pushing at Steve and Sharon to do so as well.

Pietro flops back and turns on his side so that he’s facing me. I make to get off the bed too, but he grabs my arm.  _Do you want to listen to Stark’s apologies?_

/I don’t know./

_I don’t know that they will make any difference in how I feel about him. Why should he waste his time? From what I hear, he doesn’t want to be an Avenger anymore. We won’t work with him._

/There are chances that we will. Do we really want to have a person on our team that we cannot work with?/

_I think we’re doing enough by letting him be here now. I’ll play video games, but I’m not shaking hands._

/Fair enough, but…/

_You think you want to talk?_

/Maybe./

_And you do not want to be alone to talk?_

/Do I ask too much?/

He sighs, lets go of my arm and rolls onto his back. I crawl off the bed, leaving him to think.

“You guys okay?” Clint asks.  He holds a blanket he must have gotten out of the closet. He shakes it out and drapes it over Pietro who lies on top of his blankets and sheets.

“I didn’t know he was so nice,” Sharon says to Steve in a low voice—I don’t think she means for anyone but Steve to hear. I can’t help but smile.

“I don’t want to talk about Sokovia with Stark,” Pietro grumbles, rolling onto his other side, away from me, and pulling the blanket up over his ears. “I just want the dessert… and the game.”

I want to hit him, hug him, and laugh at the same time. He’s infuriating and endearing. I clench his blanket between my hands, twisting the stiff fabric.

“All right,” Clint says, running a hand through his short hair and seeming amused. “Steve and I will deal with it. You going to sleep?”

“I don’t know,” Pietro mumbles.

Clint pats Pietro’s back, but focuses on me like he’s waiting for something.

I open my mouth and close it. “I… I will talk to Stark, but,” I kiss the top of Pietro’s head, “I won’t do it here.” I look to the door Stark had gone through. It’s partially open and I see him pacing outside, and hear the murmur of his voice.  He must still be on the phone.

I take a deep breath and head for the door, ignoring the grouchy thoughts Pietro sends my way.  The hallway is narrow and without much traffic. Pietro’s in a private room away from the trauma center and general check-up clinic. A nursing station sits at the end of the hall, staffed by three nurses with a doctor on-call at all times.

Stark walk in circles as he talks.

“Mmhm… there’s a 100 dollar tip in it for you if you get that stuff here in the next 30 minutes.  Oh yeah? I thought that’d be the case. Just ring this number when you get here, somebody’ll meet you with the money.” He disconnects and almost does a military about-face.“Yah!” He jumps at seeing me in front of him. “Make some noise will you?”

I swallow, not knowing how to start. “Thank you,” I blurt. “For getting the food, and bringing the game, and whatever else you brought.”

Stark nods, his eyes shifting from side to side. He looks like he’d sooner be anywhere else than here with me. I’m confused. Steve said Stark wanted to apologize.

“Okay,” I say slowly and begin to turn and go back into Pietro’s room.

“No, wait,” Stark calls, and I stop. “Okay.” He says, then rumples his spiky hair. “Okay. So, I’m not good at this. I hire people who are good at this and make them do this. But I didn’t think that’d work out too well with your case, so I’m here, and doing this. No twin, just you? Or can he not leave the room? I can do this in the room, but I’d like it to just be us.”

I hold up a hand, hoping he’ll be quiet and he is. “He doesn’t want to talk, so it’s just me.”

“He doesn’t want to talk about your parents and my rocket launcher?” His eyes go wide, and I sense that he didn’t mean to say it like that. I flinch anyway, and blink back images of the hole in the floor and the sounds of screaming.

“No,” I say. “But really, what can you say? You didn’t fire it; you probably didn’t even sell it to the person who actually used it.” Do I not blame Stark anymore? No, I still blame him. I blame him for what he stood for. I blame him for granting people access to his weapons, for developing weapons and not caring about what they did.

”I’m not that guy anymore,” Stark says.

“Yes, Steve says that. Clint says that. I saw in your mind, too, that you want to change, to make amends, to save people.”

“Because I’ve been out there, kid. I got kidnapped in the Middle East, I saw what my weapons did, saw what they’re used for. I just—I was sheltered and now, I’m not.  If I could snatch back every weapon my company manufactured, I would. Look, I’m selfish and self-centered. I don’t play well with others. But I want to help you and your brother. I can’t get you back your real parents, but I can provide. Tell me what you need, and you got it. I don’t want you to suffer anymore.”

“Tell that to the other people hurt by your weapons.” I shake my head. “Why don’t you try to help them too?”

“I have charities. I give away all kinds of things,” Stark says. “But I know you two now. You made it real personal back there with Ultron, and I want to make it right.”

“You can’t make it right.” I fold my arms over my chest.

“But I can make it better.” Stark seems so sure of himself. “Let me try.”

“What makes you think we want help from you?” I ask.

“Well,” he gestures around the hall, “you’re here with my team.”

“You quit,” I point out.

“Details, details, and for the record, I did _not_ quit. I’m on leave.”

I narrow my eyes. “I’m on the team because I need something to do with my powers. What does this have to do with you?”  
           

“How about an allowance?” Stark suggests out of the blue.

“What?”

“A monthly thing. SHIELD pays like crap. I can give you two another income and you can get an apartment now instead of living in the dorms.”

I chew my lip, thinking about all of the expensive stores I’ve been to this week. Would money from SHIELD not be enough? No, Sharon acted like it is plenty. But Stark is rich, rich people think anything that’s not wealthy is poor. There’s no in-between.

“We’ll be fine,” I say. “We need no money from you. If that is what will make you feel better, then you must suffer.”

Stark blinks. “You make me feel like I’m trying to buy you off.”

“You’re not?”

“No,” Stark says, and sighs. “Look, I just want to make sure you’re taken care of. I mean, what are you, 18, 19?”

“Nineteen.”

“I know where you come from you’re considered real adults. Don’t girls get married in their teens?”

 I nod.

“But here, kids mooch off their parents well into their 20s, and sometimes 30s. You got nobody to mooch off, and that’s my fault. So… if you need to mooch, mooch, because in my book you’re not real adults yet. You’ve got scary powers and big attitudes, but at the end of the day, you’re just kids. You let Hawkeye and Cap help you out, why not me too? You don’t even have to see me or talk to me, just… I want you to know that if you need something, you can ask me.”

I stare and Stark shrugs.

“That’s it. That’s all I got,” he says, and looks sincere. I can’t help it, I reach out and touch his mind, reeling at the racing thoughts and sounds and colors and grasp a tendril of emotion. Sorrow, guilt, a need to repent.

I sigh. “You don’t need to give us allowance.”

He looks crestfallen for a moment before recovering, his face going blank.

“But…” I drawl and he tilts his head. “It is nice to know that if we were to really need something, you would try to help.”

He nods.

“My brother likes the game. He doesn’t want to talk to you, but he likes that you brought gifts.” I offer Stark a small smile. “Maybe when he’s feeling better, he’ll tell you himself.”

“I’m glad you’re here, both of you,” Stark says. He fidgets with his fingers and starts looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else again. “I’m going to see what’s keeping that dessert.” When I don’t move, he says, “That’s all I got, kid.” He walks away briskly, snapping his fingers and fiddling with his cell phone.

A few seconds pass before I go back into Pietro’s room. Steve, Sharon and Clint sit in chairs around the hologram, playing the smash game again. Pietro is a lump on the bed, silver brown curls peeking over the blanket.  I crawl back onto the bed, and lay on my back beside him. The bed is wider than the typical hospital beds I’ve seen, which I good because so many people like to sit on it at once. 

_What did he say?_

/You’re awake?/

_Should I punch him?_

/No./ I peel the covers down below his neck and tug at him so that he’ll turn over onto his back too. After a moment, he does, and I watch his profile. /He wanted to let us know that if we need anything, we can ask him too—like we ask Clint and Steve and the others./

_He’s not Clint or Steve._

I smirk at how petulant the thought is. /Pietro, you should not play favorites./

 _Why not? You do. You know you like Clint the best_.

/So do you!/

_He’s funny._

/You think so too!/  I roll over and place my head on Pietro’s chest.  He smells like antibacterial soap and the Pantene shampoo I’d used in his hair this morning. Closing my eyes, I listen to the sounds of our friends shouting over the video game, the soft beep of Pietro’s heart monitor, and the congested purr of his breathing.

_Do you think you will ever ask Stark for anything?_

I shake my head. /But it is decent of him to offer./

 _We’re in a good place, yeah?_ I feel a grin in his thoughts as he imitates me.

/Yeah./

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soră—Sister


	6. Safe House

_Clint Barton_

 

My job wouldn’t be my job without the occasional major terrorist threat and compromises to the security of the workplace. Alarms sound as the evacuation protocol is put into effect. Basically, it means: everyone bug out, go to ground, wait for news.  Some people go to lesser known facilities. Me, I usually just go home, that’s my safe house. Nat comes with me when she’s here, but she’s on a deep cover mission somewhere undisclosed—meaning only Fury knows. I don’t have to worry about her, unless something about Bruce pops up. Green bastard.

I do have to worry about the kiddos though.  Maria pushed the paperwork in my hand minutes earlier. Fury has a heart, he hasn’t been to see the twins, but he didn’t forget them.  The papers are orders for the medical ward to release Pietro to me, instead of packing him off to some other facility.  Pietro doesn’t need critical care anymore, and maybe Fury thinks a few days in the normal world might do the kid good. I don’t care; I’m just glad to have the chance to get the twins out of here for a while.

I reach the medical ward and weave through nurses, doctors and orderlies rushing by carrying file boxes, brief cases and computers. The door to Pietro’s room is open, so I walk right in.  Pietro’s sitting on top of his bed, fully dressed in sweats and sneakers, lids droopy as he watches Wanda and Nurse Takano pack a duffle bag full of medical junk. Two backpacks sit on the window seat next to a pair of leather jackets.

“That your stuff?” I ask, gesturing to the backpacks. 

Wanda’s wide blue eyes land on me and she nods. “Clint. Fury called and said we are to go with you.”  
           

Huh. I’m impressed. “You got a call from the big man himself?” I go to the window seat, snatch up both backpacks and sling them over my shoulders. They’re pretty light. “This all you wanna take?”

Wanda frowns. “That’s all.” She gathers the jackets.

“And this.” Takano zips the duffle. “Everything you’ll need should be in here. Feeding bags, catheters, extra tubing, clamps, G-tube pump, collapsible IV pole, a few cans of formula—you’ll have to buy more, an instruction manual—with a list of links to ‘how-to videos’ should you forget something—vitamins, prescriptions…”

 “Great.” I grab that bag too, hoping Wanda really knows what she’s doing when it comes to her brother’s feeding tube. Don’t think I’ll be messing with that part. I look over at Pietro. He still looks like hell, but he’s better. He’s been walking around the complex some and eating a lot more on his own, but he’s nowhere near 100%. I don’t know that he can walk as far as the launching bay without help.

Takano seems to read my mind. She goes to a corner and struggles with something that rattles, then unfolds a hidden wheelchair. “It’s policy,” she states before Pietro can complain.

Pietro glares and mutters under his breath as he situates himself in the wheelchair. I frown at how he slumps in the chair and lets his head roll forward.

“You all right, brat?” I ask.

He nods and Wanda comes to stand beside the chair. She’s wearing one of the jackets; she drapes the other over Pietro’s shoulders. “He’s sick.”

“Again?” I put the duffle bag in Pietro’s lap and touch his forehead. He just got over a cold last week.

Pietro ducks my hand. “I’m just tired”

Nothing new there. “We really need to be wearing gloves when we handle you.”

Pietro grunts.

I laugh and move back to grip the handle bars on the wheelchair. “You guys ready?”

“Where are we going?” Wanda asks. “Another base?”

“To my house,” I say. “My wife’s expecting us all for dinner. Let’s go.”

 

***

            I love coming home in a jet. Lila and Cooper get a kick out of it every time and I get to pretend to be cool. Wanda sits beside me in the co-pilot seat while Pietro snores in back. The trip home isn’t that long, but Wanda told me Nurse Takano had given Pietro some heavy duty cold medicine right before I’d come to get them. Nyquil comas are killer.

            “Do things like this happen often?” Wanda asks out of the blue. We’d flown in silence for the past hour.

            “Like what? The evacuation?” I shift into auto-pilot and turn my attention to her as she nods. “Every once in a while. Seems like it’s happened more in the past few years than ever before, but it’s not a normal thing.”

            “Oh.”  She doesn’t sound pleased to hear it.

            “Did it scare you?” Of course it did. These kids were born in a warzone.  

            “I wasn’t scared,” she says simply. She gazes straight ahead. “I just—I thought we were moving away from things like that. It felt like being in Hydra or in our hiding places in Sokovia. Nowhere was safe. I thought SHIELD would be safe.”

            I sigh. “It usually is. It’s just with all the alien slash evil robot craziness going on, every megalomaniac with a cult following wants in on the action. It’s like a fad. Everyone wants their 15 minutes of fame.”

            It’s obvious I’m saying the wrong things. Her frown deepens and she taps her long fingers on the armrests of the chair. “We should get an apartment, Pietro and me, I mean. I was online earlier today looking at guides for finding places to live. The suburbs of the city seem nice, or one of the small towns outside of it. The rent is cheaper and the units are larger. I did not read any news reports about any of those places needing to be evacuated.”

            “An apartment, huh?” That’s what Wanda had ultimately wanted, an apartment once they could afford it. But geez, I can’t help but visualize Lila and Cooper with their _My Little Pony_ and _Ninja Turtles_ suitcases saying that they’re moving out and getting a house cross country. “Even if it’s cheaper in the burbs or a neighboring city, living in an apartment is expensive. And then there are bills to pay.”

            A slow, sad smile crosses her lips. “Ah, that I don’t think will be a problem for us.”

            “Really?” Had the twins gained an inheritance from a dead relative recently?

            “Last week, when I talked to Tony Stark, he said he would help us pay for an apartment, if we needed him to,” Wanda says. “He wants us to… mooch. That is what he said exactly: mooch.”

            I do a triple-take, choking on words for a minute, then relax. Yeah, the mooching part does sound like Tony, but helping them get an apartment? Who knew Tony could be such a bleeding heart? “So, you’re gonna take him up on it.”

            “I don’t know,” Wanda says. “I don’t want to take gifts like that from him, but I also don’t want to live in another place that could be blown up with my brother and me inside.”

            “Did you talk to Pietro about it?”

            Wanda shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t want him to worry about it just yet. He needs to focus on healing.”

            We lapse into silence again for the last half hour of the trip.  The sun sets, its last rays blending the sky into a swirl of pink, dark blue and orange.  Wanda leans forward, hands brushing the glass of the window. She’s probably never seen a sunset from this angle. I smile at her. It’s nice observing other people appreciating small things I take for granted. I fly this plane so much I don’t even notice the stars in the sky anymore, unless my navigation messes up and I need to rely on old fashioned north, south, east and west.

            I begin our descent. As we dip beneath the clouds, Wanda makes a soft noise. A clear aerial of the farm comes into view.

            “It’s a—it’s… not what I imagined for you,” Wanda stammers.

            I land the plane on the homemade landing pad, an empty field in front of the house, with the ease of experience. I can do this with my eyes closed. “What? Too rustic?”

            “Well… yes,” Wanda admits. “It’s nice, but you seem very comfortable in the city. A place like this doesn’t seem like it would suit you well.”

            “The team thought that too, but wait until you see me in flannel.” I give a half-smirk. “You’ll change your mind.”

            She laughs and undoes her seatbelt when the plane comes to a complete halt. “I’ll wake my brother. Ah…” She gazes toward the house, seeming nervous. I follow her gaze to see Laura, Lila and Cooper on the front porch.

            “It’s the Barton tribe! Don’t worry, they don’t bite. Not even the dog.” I beam at seeing my wife and kids. It’s been a couple of days. Between the team, Nat and the twins, I’ve been neglecting real time with my immediate family, but I’d snuck away for a few days here and there. Steve’s good with Pietro, and Wanda’s been spending time with Sharon.

            I go through the motions of powering down the jet, and then spring the hatch. The side door opens, exposing the twins to their first whiff of country air. It’s sweet and clean, no manufactured city stink, just cow patty and a crisp tang that warns me the first snow of the year’s coming soon. 

            “Hey guys, make sure you put those jackets back on,” I call to the twins as I make my way out of the cockpit.  The short cabin of the jet has four chairs situated into two rows. In the first row, Wanda sits next to a drowsy Pietro, rubbing his back as he tries to master sitting up straight. His head flops onto her shoulder.

            Cold air from outside bleeds into the cabin space. I’m not wearing a jacket either, but we won’t be outside long enough for it to matter to me. I don’t want Pietro to feel it, though. His jacket’s hung over the back of his chair. I shake it out like a blanket. “Come on, brat. Let’s get you in the house. You can sleep in a real bed after dinner, okay?”

            Wanda helps me stand him up and work on his jacket. The brat’s really no help, barely managing to stay on his feet without a prop.

            “Hey, wake up. How much of that stuff did Takano give him?” I ask as Pietro leans heavily on me. I take one of his arms and drag it over my shoulder.

            “A lot.” Wanda shrugs. “His metabolism burns regular doses up too fast.”

            It burns everything up too fast. If you ask me, Hydra screwed up with that one.

            “All right, one foot in front of the other. Time to meet my tribe!” I march the kids off the plane, still supporting Pietro whose steps get clumsier by the second. “I’m not carrying you, brat. Wake up.”

            Cooper and Lila jump off the porch and run across the yard towards us. I grin, wanting to spread my arms and grab them up, but Pietro would do a total face-plant if I let him go.

            “Hey guys!” I exclaim. “These are my friends, Wanda and Pietro.”

            Wanda hugs her brother’s side, staring at my kids like tigers in the zoo. She’s afraid to reach through the bars and pet them.

            “Wow! You’re pretty!” Cooper announces, looking Wanda up and down, and I beam with pride. That’s my son. It’s never too early.

            “Um… thank you,” Wanda says.

            Lila grabs Wanda’s hand and raises her wrist to study the charm bracelet Wanda bought on her last shopping excursion with Sharon. “I have a charm bracelet too! I’ve got a Rainbow Dash charm on mine! Your charms are weird.”

            I chuckle. That’s my daughter. Honest and straight to the point.

            “You look sleepy!” Lila tells Pietro who blinks at her.

            “Your hair’s cool!” Cooper adds. My kids gather around us, bouncing and talking, as I lead the twins to the porch where Laura waits, her pregnant belly the best thing I’ve seen all day. My new son’s ready to pop out and meet the world. Wonder what he’ll be like, honest like Lila, bold like Coop, or someone totally different?

            By the time we reach the porch steps, Pietro’s awake enough to pull his arm off my shoulder and shuffle between Wanda and me by himself. He still looks ready to fall into a coma if brought too close to a bed, couch or chair.

            “Mom! Dad’s new friends are cool!” Cooper shouts, bounding up the porch steps. Lila holds Wanda’s hand, still sorting through the charms on her bracelet. The silver bracelet made to look like an antique is loaded with charms, mostly creepy stuff: evil eyes and gothic crosses. Nothing like Lila’s ponies, rainbows and ballet slippers, but she’s still intrigued.

            “Welcome.” Laura smiles as the twins and I reach her. Bypassing Wanda’s extended hand, she hugs the girl as tightly as her belly will allow. “Don’t be silly. You’re family now. Family doesn’t shake hands.” She reaches for Pietro next, hugging him as tightly as she had Wanda, then pulling back to stare into his face. “You saved my husband.”

            My heart clenches at the brightness in her eyes. How many times have I almost died on her, and she’d just had to sit by the phone waiting for news? I put a hand on Pietro’s shoulder, taking in the gangly, half-asleep teenager who’d used his body as a bullet shield for me. I’d almost been that bullet shield.

            “Thank you,” Laura breathes, kissing Pietro’s cheek, then frowning at him, and glaring at me as she presses the back of her hand to his cheek. “Clint! He’s got a fever! Why are you letting him stand outside in the cold? Come on, honey.” She takes Pietro by the arm and pulls him into the house.

            My mouth falls open. “I…”

            Lila gives me her patented, pitying ‘I’m sorry you’re dumb’ look, and Cooper shakes his head. They follow Laura and Pietro inside, chattering all the way. I mock-glare at Wanda as she laughs.

            “Your family is funny too,” Wanda says.

            “Yeah, yeah, tell you what. You go on in, I’ll get your stuff out of the jet.” I snort at her panicked look. “You’ll be fine. The family loves you already. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”  
           

            Wanda looks uncertain. “I can help you—”

            “You’ve got three bags. It’s okay. Go.” I push her toward the front door.

            Wanda stumbles toward the door, pausing in the doorway and looking back at me, before going in. Good girl. I head back to the jet for our bags. I have a little one too, but it’s no problem. I get the bags, lock down the jet, and head back to the house. Warm air and the smell of pot roast and mashed potatoes greet me. Oh yeah, home—why do I ever leave? I hear my kids and Laura talking to the twins and each other, the clinking of dishes and the scraping of chairs against a wooden floor.

            I enter the downstairs guest room. The full-sized bed is made, the comforter turned down, and the daybed, usually used as a window seat, is made as well. Laura had wanted to put Wanda in Nat’s room, but I told her the twins would probably rather share a room, at least for the first night or so. And there’s always the chance that Nat will drop in. I set the twins’ things on the daybed, and run upstairs to toss my things in my bedroom closet.

            All right, food, I’m coming.

            The kitchen’s table is set and my beautiful family is eating without me. “Hey!” I take my place next to Laura at the table, doing my best to look wounded.

            “The kids were hungry,” Laura says around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

            I learned the hard way to never argue with a pregnant woman, especially when it comes to food. “Yeah, okay.” I reach for my plate. It’s piled high with roast, potatoes and green beans. I smell blackberry pie warming in the oven. I can’t complain.

            I glance over at the twins between bites. They sit across from Laura and me. Lila and Cooper sit at opposite ends of the table, both probably wanting to sit by a twin. Lila’s got Wanda and Cooper’s got Pietro. Wanda smiles at Lila and eats dinner with table manners suited for a much fancier table than this one as Lila talks her ear off. I note Lila sitting up straighter, trying to mimic Wanda’s poise.

            Pietro pushes food around on his plate as he listens to Cooper. Every now and again, some of the food makes it to his mouth.  I have no doubt that he wants to eat everything on that plate, but can he eat it before he passes out?  I don’t know; those eyes look ready to close.

            “Is Aunt Nat coming too?” Lila asks suddenly. “That’d be really fun!”

            “She might show up later, baby,” I say, finishing my roast and wanting to make my way to the oven for pie. Vegetables always taste better when mixed with dessert. “She’s working.”

            “Aunt Nat is awesome,” Cooper tells Pietro. “She can beat up Dad!”

            Pietro shoots me a wicked grin. “I bet she can.”

I scowl at him.

            “Thor and Captain America can beat up Daddy too,” Lila says, then rubs her little chin, looking deeply thoughtful. “Oh!  And Mommy can beat up Daddy!”

            What is this, Slam Dad Day?

            “That’s a lot of people, Dad,” Cooper says, eyes wide. “You need to work out.”

            Wanda almost spits her iced tea on the table and Pietro cracks up.  Cooper looks pleased with himself, while Lila tugs on Wanda’s bracelet and changes the subject. The rest of the meal takes this tone, my own flesh and blood insulting me with love, the twins laughing, and my wife watching with a benevolent smile.  

             It’s great to be home.

 

              Dinner lasts about 45 minutes. Pietro makes it through seconds and even dessert before passing out on the couch in front of the TV with Cooper.  The whole family ends up around the TV.  The DVR’s loaded with shows I need to catch up on; there’s a new Dr. Who I don’t know. Lila’s got her _My Little Pony_ and freaky _Monster High_ Doll collections out, introducing Wanda and getting her to play. If I didn’t think she’d blast me with her powers, I would record this.

              Laura rests her head on my shoulder and I snuggle close to her, my hand going to her belly. Little Nate never kicks when I want him to. I smirk, remembering Natasha’s reaction at finding out little Natasha was a Nathaniel: Nathaniel Pietro Barton.  I glance over at Pietro on the adjacent couch, he lies flat on his stomach, head buried in a pillow.

              “Hey Coop?” I call.

              Coop’s sprawled on the rug in front of Pietro’s couch, playing his DS.  “Mmhm?”

              “Can you grab a blanket out of the closet for Pietro?”

              “Okay!”

              “We’ve got such great kids,” Laura says. “I took Lila to that birthday party on Saturday, and I realized something.”

              “The only kids you like are ours?” I ask.

              “How’d you know?” Laura asks.

              “Because you say that every time you come back from a birthday party, or a play-date, or school function…” I go down the list of all the things we go to that involve other children. Laura’s a kind, loving woman, but too many little people screaming in one place drives her nuts. I’m better suited for chaos than she is, so when I’m here, I’m the one stuck with the birthday parties and school functions. The kids’ own birthday parties are family events that just involve us, some kiddy cousins, Nat, and a bounce house.

             She presses a finger to my lips to shut me up. I kiss that finger, and she kisses me. Then, she sighs. “I’ve adjusted my opinion a little.”

             “How so?” I tilt my head to study her face. She looks utterly satisfied. It’s like this on nights when we just sit on the couch with the kids around us, watching TV, talking. This is what life’s about for me. I love that it’s about that for her too.

             “I’ve decided that maybe I like two more kids,” she says, eyes going first to Pietro then to Wanda.  “Can we keep them?”

             I snort. “You haven’t even known them for a full day. They could get on your nerves like all the others.”

             Laura shakes her head. “I don’t think so.  I think these guys could be annoying and I could tune it out like I do Coop and Lila.”

             “Careful. People at HQ are already calling me Papa Clint when it comes to these guys,” I say. “But…” I shrug “…they don’t have anybody, just us—me, the team. Like Nat, they need a family.”

             “They’ve got one,” Laura says and I kiss her cheek.

             Coops skids across the wooden floor with the blanket and tosses it over Pietro like a magician doing a trick. His show catches Lila’s attention, and she abandons her ponies to practically crawl on top of Pietro as she tucks the blanket around his body. The brat doesn’t stir, not even when Lila starts playing his hair.

            “You’ve told them that they’re as welcome here as Nat, right?”

            “Not in so many words,” I say, “but they didn’t ask, just packed up when Fury told them to and followed me onto the plane. Wanda was a little nervous to meet you guys, but I think she’s okay now.”

            Lila rejoins Wanda on the floor, playing with her charm bracelet again while Wanda brushes the tail of a pony and watches _Dr. Who_.  

           “How about our hero?” Laura asks.

           “He was too groggy to be nervous. I think his nurse overdosed him on cold medicine. Wanda said she gave him a lot.” I frown, worried. What if Takano made a mistake and gave Pietro more than his system can handle? But—I raise a brow at a snort-snore from Pietro’s couch—he doesn’t seem to be breathing his last.

           “How’s he doing?” Laura asks. “You don’t go into much when we talk about him.”

           I rub the stubble on my cheek and grunt. “He’s a lot better than he was. The wounds are all closed, his insides are healing up fine, but it’s still sucking up all his energy.”

           “But he’s eating enough now, so…”

           I shake my head.  “He’s still got that PEG in his stomach. He gets tube feedings at least twice a day. All the stuff’s in a bag in their room and I hope to God Wanda isn’t exaggerating about knowing how to use it all.”

           “Oh!” Laura’s eyes go wide; she peers at Wanda again. “Did a doctor teach her?”

           I nod. “And she doesn’t seem worried about it, so I’m trying not to be.”  
       

          “She seems like a very competent young lady. I think she’s got it,” Laura says and relaxes against me again.  “And we’ll have her teach us, so we can do it too.”

            I wrinkle my nose. I don’t like dealing in guts, but if I have to, I will.

            We’re quiet as we pay attention to the rest of the _Dr. Who_ episode. The next episode cues up when the previous one ends.

            “But other than that, he’s okay?” Laura suddenly asks.

            “Hm?”

            “Before—weeks ago when things were touchy,” Laura murmurs, “you were concerned about some of the things both of the twins said.”

            I close my eyes, remembering telling Laura about Pietro rambling about being dead and seeming afraid of Wanda’s powers. I’d even told Laura about Wanda acting guilty whenever Pietro’s pain was so bad he had to be sedated, like she’d committed a crime in wanting her brother to live.  

            “Is it better now?” Laura presses.

            “I don’t know,” I say. The twins don’t talk about that stuff anymore with me. Who knows what they talk about alone, or what they’re just keeping inside? But they seem happier now.

            “I hope so,” Laura says. “They’re sweet kids, not ‘punks’ at all.” She pinches my arm as she quotes me.

            I laugh. “Not punks—brats. Well, not Wanda, just Pietro.”

            “Because he calls you old?” She grins.

            “There are other things too.” I wave my hand.  “But yeah, mostly because he calls me old.”

            “Such vanity.”

            “Hey, he calls me ‘Old Man’. If some brat started calling you ‘Old’…” I trail off at the spark in her eye.  Never call a pregnant woman anything other than her name or her Majesty, or pay the price in front of your insulting offspring. Mommy can beat up Daddy indeed.

            “So, the new Dr. Who, huh?” I gesture toward the TV and Laura chuckles into my shoulder.

            “I’m glad you’re home,” she whispers.

            “Me too.”


	7. Nuclear Family

_Wanda Maximoff_

             

            The Bartons surprise me.  They’re like people on TV when they interact. There’s a mother who makes blueberry pancakes, checks homework, and makes sure teeth get brushed, there’s a little girl sweet as honey, and a little boy charming as a prince. But what I really can’t get over is the fact that there’s a father who fixes things with hammer and nails, and who makes the most delicious dinners and desserts. Clint Barton the father and Clint Barton who is Hawkeye cannot be the same person, yet he is.

            He’s still funny and sharp. His eyes are keen, his reflexes always ready to spring into action. He practices his archery in a field behind the barn. But he drops it all to play kickball with his children or to rub his wife’s feet. I don’t understand why this man leaves all of this to work for SHIELD. I would never leave this place if it was my home and these people were waiting for me to come back.

            All that time he spent with us at headquarters, he could have been here. He did not have to do that. If I had known about all of this, I wouldn’t have let him. But if I hadn’t let him, then Pietro and I wouldn’t be here right now. And so once again I’m selfish, for wanting this for myself and my brother.

            “What are you thinking so hard about?” Pietro asks from the doorway. I stand on the front porch with my elbows propped on the rails, peering out into fields. I don’t know what they grow here; everything is brown and dormant for the winter. It’s still lovely to me, calm and quiet.  Something I’ve never seen, except on TV.

            I turn around to look my brother over. He’s in jeans that are a half-size too large and a hooded sweatshirt. “Where is your coat?”

            “Please, I’m not even outside,” Pietro says, crossing his arms over his chest.

            “You’re in the doorway with the door open, and it’s cold.” I stretch a hand out toward him, gathering energy in my palm. “I’ll push you back inside and close the door.”

            “Oh my God!  This isn’t even cold compared to Sokovia!” Pietro gripes. He twitches and I grab him with my power before he can do it.

            “Are you crazy?” I shout at him. “You can’t use your powers!”

            He scowls at me. “I use them all the time. I don’t have an on/off switch. Why do you think I’m not still full of holes—besides this one?” He pokes his stomach.

            Anger flares. “You know what I mean! Don’t run.”

            We glare at each other for a solid minute before Pietro’s shoulders slump. “I wasn’t going to,” he admits. “I’d probably pass out after two steps anyway.”

            And drop dead. His metabolism will devour him completely if he forces it to accelerate by speeding his movements. He must move in normal time. It’s hard for him, because the normal world moves too slowly in his mind. He’s bored.

            “Coat, Pietro, now.”  It’s my turn to cross my arms over my chest. Pietro rolls his eyes and disappears into the house. He comes out moments later in one of Clint’s winter coats. Our leather jackets aren’t warm enough for this weather. I wear one of Laura’s coats over a sweater and jeans.

            I sigh and lean into my brother when he stands beside me.

_I’m sorry_.

            /Don’t be. I just worry about you./

            _Our new_ parents _worry enough for three of you. You should relax._

I snort. /Clint and Laura do seem to treat us as they do Cooper and Lila, though Laura does not check our teeth./

            _What do you think about it?_

            I hum and gaze up at the sky. Three days on the farm, though I feel like I’ve been here for longer, almost as if I—as if I live here. Pietro and I are included in everything: family games, meals, discussions.  We have a room that Clint and Laura have designated as ours for any time we come to visit, like Natasha has her own room. Clint even talks about starting a home improvement project that involves adding an extra room to the house, so that Pietro and I won’t have to share. It all feels so long term.

            /I like being here, and I like them very much./

            _I_ _feel like we should pay them. How do we thank them for their kindness?_

            Horrible images of him bleeding from multiple bullet wounds assault me. I blink them away, eyes burning. /You’ve paid them enough, sweetheart/

            _It makes me feel fake. I didn’t mean to sacrifice myself for Clint and the little boy. I overestimated my abilities. I meant to get out of the way, but I had run so much that day without fuel that I wasn’t fast enough anymore._

            I wrap an arm around his waist. /You don’t have to talk about it. I know./

            _The only person I would sacrifice myself for is you. Or—at least that was true then. Now, I don’t know. But, I’m glad that what I did then saved Clint. His family needs him._

/I feel the same./

            _Do you think that we’re cut out to be heroes—Avengers—when we don’t know if we’d make mortal sacrifices for other people besides ourselves?_

/It was certainly never in our original plan./ But there had never been much in our original plan to begin with. It had all been about revenge, single-minded and blind. /But our powers can help people, and after all we went through to get them, we should use them./

            I feel the smirk in Pietro’s thoughts before I see it on his lips. _I think it’s funny that we are getting paid for it now. Hydra would never pay. Our service would be in gratitude for them not killing us in their experiment. Bad guys loss, good guys gain._

/Would you do this if there was no money involved?/

            Pietro raises a brow and turns to face me, his pale face thin and shadowed. _If this did not turn into a job, how would we survive? On the good graces of SHIELD? It’d be just like Hydra all over again. Room and board for our services, nothing more. That’s no life._   

            I swallow, but nod. His response is logical. /Steve would do this job for free and work a regular job when he wasn’t saving the world./

            _Steve is so different from us. He’s… I don’t know how to describe him, but he’s like one of those people you read about in stories who are just good. He’ll go to heaven and won’t have to wait in line._            

            /Do you feel bad that you’re not like Steve?/

            _No one’s like Steve. That’s what I just said._

/But if you could be…?/

            _God, no. My head hurts just thinking about all the moral conflicts he must have every day. It must be exhausting to be so righteous and nice and courteous all the time. I’d tell everyone to go to hell sooner or later._

I laugh and hug his waist tighter. /I agree with you./

            The porch creaks and, as a unit, we look to the left at Clint coming up the steps with his bow and quiver. He quirks an eyebrow at us. “It’s creepy when you guys do things like that, you know.”

            “That’s why we do it, Old Man,” Pietro says. “Just for you.”  
            Clint throws a pretend punch at Pietro. “Smart ass.” He joins us, standing onside of Pietro and looking out onto his own fields. “In the spring, when things turn green again, this place will really be something to see. I might even have your room ready by then, Wanda.”

            I smile at Clint. “You don’t have to build me a room in your house.”

            “Yeah, I do. Laura’s already got it mapped out in her head. I’m not arguing with her,” Clint says wryly.

            “You are afraid of a pregnant woman?” Pietro chuckles. “You can outrun her.”

            “No, I can’t! And you should be afraid of her too, especially if she drives up and catches you just standing out here. She’s not going to be at the beauty shop forever,” Clint says. “How long have you—?”

            “Only a little while,” Pietro says, but one look at Pietro’s cold-reddened cheeks reveals his lie.

            I groan. “It’s my fault.” I’d been enjoying my time with him and forgotten the weather. “Let’s go inside, _dragă_.”

            I want to kick myself when Pietro doesn’t complain and lets Clint and I usher him inside. No complaint from him means that he was cold out there.

            “I’ll get you some tea. You want some, Wanda?” Clint asks, already heading for the kitchen.

            “No,” I say to his back as he fades into a hallway.

            Pietro drops onto a couch, sprawling his long legs out in front of him. “Why didn’t you go to the beauty shop with Laura?”

            I scowl down at him. “Are you trying to say something about my appearance?”

            Pietro snorts. “No. But you complained about your hair being too long. Why not go get a cut or something? Get out of the house. You don’t have to stay here because I do.”

            “I like being in the house,” I say. I love wandering the rooms and going up and down the stairs. I like looking in drawers and cabinets at trinkets and odds and ends that make a home. “I can go to a beauty parlor in the city.”

            Pietro tilts his head, watching me, then he looks away. I sense his unease.

            /What is it?/

            _Nothing._

It’s not. He shrugs out of the coat and coughs into the crook of his elbow. I wince at the rough, congested sounds and slide down beside him so I can rub his back. Coughing and sneezing leaves him lethargic. He takes as many naps during the day as he did when he’d first roused after the cradle.  It makes me nervous. Sometimes, I sense the same anxiety from Clint. Pietro pats his chest and leans back, resting against the couch cushions, and I run a hand through his hair.

            “I’ll play a video game with you.” I’ve decided that I hate video games because I’m not good at them, not even when the difficulty is set on beginner.

            He casts at long look at me under his lashes. “It’s no fun winning against you.” His tone is smug, gone is the sullen face, but underneath I sense that the melancholy is still there. He wants to hide it from me—he hides a lot these days. Sometimes, he just goes quiet and stares off into space. The only times I can get a decent grasp of the darkness inside him is after a nightmare when he’s too out of it to conceal so much. But even then, I don’t understand it all.  

            “So teach me to play better,” I say. 

            Pietro groans. “That’ll take forever!” Forever for Pietro really means 15 minutes. He can’t sit in front of the television or play a video game for longer than that. To tell the truth, I’m surprised he makes it that long.

            “Forever is no time for your sister,” I insist.

            “So demanding,” he sighs, putting a hand over his eyes. “Fine.”

            Now it’s my turn to pretend to be smug. “Ha!” I do not look forward to playing video games, even if it is only for 15 minutes.

            The big screen television sits in a wooden entertainment center that constantly Clint boasts about building from scratch. Drawers, cabinets and shelves offer many options for storing books, movies, music, gaming and music systems. Pietro slides off the couch onto the floor and scoots to a bottom drawer where the family’s Wii Universe is kept. In higher drawers, there are other gaming systems with games that play out like adventure novels. I like watching Clint and Cooper play them. There are even games for singing and dancing, those I like, though I will never sing and dance for an audience. I’d have to play by myself.

            Pietro sets up the game station, plugging in wires and unraveling cords. I end up on the floor beside him, trying to untangle things. Cooper must have dumped the system right into the drawer without a second thought before bedtime last night.

            As I pull red, yellow and white video cables loose, I bite my lip, chancing a question. “Pietro?”

            “Hm?”

            “What’s bothering you about me liking to be here, in this house?”

            “Nothing,” he says, too blandly. “Why do you think that?”

            /You’re lying to me./

            “I’m teaching you to play Smash Brothers,” he says, pushing me out of his mind. We finish setting up the system, and Pietro turns on the TV.

            I finger the Wii controllers. “Something’s been wrong for a while. Is it—”

            “Please, Wanda, not now.” He looks at me with large, tired eyes, the bags beneath them dark.  The Wii chimes, asking someone to press “A” on a controller. Pietro takes his white controller and nunchuk and sits back on the couch, leaving me on the floor by myself.

            “We’ll do a tutorial game,” Pietro says. “Are you ready?”

            “Yes.” I don’t care. I hold the controller and barely pay attention to the game screen. Colors swirl and blur together as I blink away the sting of tears. I refuse to cry.

            “OK,” Clint talks as he enters the room, “I might have dissolved some vitamins and protein powder in this, so it might not taste that great, but it’s hot.” He sits next to Pietro and they trade, Clint taking the controller and Pietro taking the tea.

            “A tutorial?” Clint laughs. “No, no, the only way you learn to play this game is from experience and reading up on the button combos.” Clint runs the screen through a series of options as Pietro drinks his tea and ignores me.

            The game starts and I press random buttons, not paying attention. Clint’s avatar stands back, not attacking, letting me experiment with the buttons. Clint pauses the game after I stop bothering to move my avatar. I toss my controller aside.

            “What’s going on?” Clint looks between Pietro and me.

            Pietro stands up and walks away, leaving the room like no one’s talking to him.

            Clint gapes. “That little…” He looks ready to get up and stalk after Pietro, but then he sighs and his attention comes to me. “Are you guys having a fight?”

            I shrug. “No. At least I don’t think so.”

            “So what’s the matter?” Clint stares at me hard. “Your eyes are red.”

            “I’m not crying.” I wipe at my eyes and am glad to feel no moisture.

            “You want to,” Clint pushes. “Were you guys talking about something heavy before I came in?”

            I shake my head. “He’s… in a mood that he won’t let me understand.”

            “Oh.” Clint doesn’t pretend to understand the psychic bond between my Pietro and me. He scratches his head and calls it a nuance he’s too old to have to comprehend.

            “I…” Sighing I look heavenward. Over the weeks, I’ve talked a lot to Clint about my feelings, some about the past, my fears, my wants. He’s been a substitute Pietro at times, and a figure of guidance.  I don’t want a substitute Pietro, though.

            I want to share with my real brother all the time, but I think that maybe...

            “He won’t open up all the way,” I say softly. “There’s a darkness inside him that wasn’t there before Ultron.”

            Clint gets off the couch to sit beside me on the floor. “Hey, you gotta give the guy a break. He’s sick as a dog, he’s tired as hell, his body hurts, his movements are restricted, and… Wanda, he died. He remembers and it freaks him out.”

            “He talks to you?” I demand.

            “Not about that stuff so much, but I don’t push,” Clint says. “He’s not ready.”

            I look at my lap; pressure building behind my eyes again. “I’m not used to him keeping things from me. Whatever it is he’s keeping inside, he must know it’ll hurt me, and he’s protecting me from it.” Selfish. Selfish. Selfish. “I wish he’d tell me what he really wants.”

            “Maybe he doesn’t know,” Clint touches my shoulder. “He’s messed up inside. I... when Fury had your brother released to me, I became his temporary power of attorney. There are copies of Pietro’s medical records on a flash drive along with his prescriptions. The doctors on his case wrote him a psychiatric referral. If we were still on base, Pietro would be talking to a psychiatrist at least twice a week. They think he’s an emotional wreck, but he’s repressing it, and that maybe it’s affecting his physical well-being as much as everything else is.”

            The doctors aren’t wrong, but it does not make me feel better to have them confirm my suspicions. My brother’s suffering and I can’t help, because he won’t stop putting me first. “What do I do?” I ask, wiping my eyes again. “ _Rahat_.” My fingers come away wet.

            “I don’t think there’s anything you can do, honey,” Clint says slowly. “Just let him be.”

            I don’t want to.  Everything fiber of my being wants to throw itself around Pietro, find out what’s so wrong and fix it for him. I give up on blinking tears back, they win.

            “This could just be what growing up’s like for you two,” Clint says, squeezing my shoulder. “You’ve been so close before all this, but you’re going to drift now that you’re out in the real world. You’ll start dating, and making different friends, and doing different things. Maybe there’ll be more things you won’t tell each other, like… sex stuff. If I had a sister, I’d be embarrassed as shit to tell her about my sex life.”

            “I know all about Pietro’s sex life and he knows about mine,” I grumble. “It’s not embarrassing.”

            Clint chokes and gawks; disbelief vibrates through his pores. “Wh—what?  But…”

            Some of the blackness inside me fades at Clint’s floundering and amusement fills me. “You think we are virgins?”

            “Well, yeah. You were 15 when you went into Hydra and…”

            “Pietro was 14 his first time. I was 16. Hydra—lots of rooms and warm bodies in one place. Sometimes, the rooms were co-ed.” I smirk coolly. “When you think every experiment will be your last, and that you may never see the people you are with again—as was the case most of the time—you take simple pleasures.”

            Clint flushes and looks anywhere but at me. “Ah man, Wanda, I didn’t want to hear about that. I never wanted to hear about that. They just let kids loose to have sex? And—and were all the people in there even kids? Were there grown men and women in there with you?”

            Laughter shakes me. His incredulity mixed with his growing righteous fury is hilarious. How does this man always manage to make me laugh when I feel ready to jump off a cliff?  “They separated us into age brackets as part of the testing. They had a theory that certain things worked better on different age groups.”

            “How large was the age group?” He sounds murderous.

            I snort. “Four years, Clint, 14-18 was our group. You should be more concerned that Pietro’s first time, outside of Hydra mind you, was with a 37 year old married mother of six. Her husband was this huge fat man who chased Pietro for blocks. Everyone on the street laughed and tried to trip the husband and help Pietro get away. It was embarrassing to be the sister of the town rake, but it was a good day for everyone else, a light day. It was the joke of the town for many months after.”

            Clint blinks, shakes his head and mutters under his breath about brats.  He lets out a big sigh and looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “My kids are in elementary school. I’m not supposed to have to deal with this for years.”

            Confused, I frown at him. “What?”

            “You and your brother,” Clint says after a beat. “Look, you’re 19, and I know you don’t think of yourselves as kids, but to us you are.”

            “You’ve said this, and so has Tony Stark,” I say.

            “Yeah and that’s just it. You’re part of the team now, but you’re kids to us. And you being here with Laura, Lila and Coop…” Clint turns around to fully face me. “I wanted you guys to come here and experience simple family life. And you know you’re not just guests, right? You’re part of us.”

            “The Avengers, yes, you’ve said the Avengers is a family. I feel it.”

            “No.” Clint rumbles his hair. “It’s not the Avengers, it’s the Bartons. You feel like part of this family, and I don’t mind it. Laura loves it, and she says Lila and Coop are telling their classmates that their new big sister and brother are the coolest people ever.”

            My heart thumps in my chest when he says that. I feel warm and happy. “Really?” The tears are back, but they’re not frustrated tears.

            Clint nods. “I’m not old enough to have kids as big as you guys, but I kind of think of you as mine. There’s a bond between us now. Not like yours and Pietro’s, but I would be upset if something took you both out of my life. I think I’d even kill the person or thing who did it, like I’d kill anything or anyone who touched Coop, Lila or Laura.”

            I wipe my eyes.

            “So, that’s it then. You’ve been adopted by Clint and Laura Barton,” Clint says with a smile. “We were going to bake a cake, but thought it’d be too cheesy.”

            “A cheesy cake?” I wrinkle my nose. “Why would you put cheese into a…?”

            Clint barks out a loud laugh and I sniffle and stare at him.

            “We’re gonna work on American expressions,” Clint says, still chuckling. He searches and finds the Wii controller I’d tossed away and gives it back to me. “Okay, let me school you on this game. No Barton, adopted or not, is allowed to be bad at Smash.”

            “Laura plays?”

            “Laura is the Queen of Smash. Nobody can beat her.”

            I giggle and take the control. Clint goes to get the one he’d abandoned and joins me on the floor again. The game un-pauses and we begin.

            After a half-hour of me losing, Pietro wanders back into the room with a box of tissue, a family-size box of Fruit Loops and a blanket. He settles on the couch and crunches cereal as he watches Clint and I play the game.  I try not to observe him, so glad that he’s here, but not wanting to scare him away.  He still looks haunted and sulky, but he’s never been a fan of being alone. Of course he’d come back.

            And eventually, he’ll come to me.

            “Hey brat,” Clint calls. “You gonna share those Fruit Loops?”

            “Mmph…” Pietro says around a mouthful of cereal.

            Clint shoots me a look. “All Bartons like Fruit Loops. Guess we’re going to have to invest in four boxes a week instead of two.”

            I grin at him. It’s nice to be a “Barton”. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rahat—Shit


	8. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

_Clint Barton_

 

            “He can’t stay here,” I growl into the phone. “I don’t care how lost he is. After what he put you through—”

            “Think about what he went through, Clint,” Nat growls back. “Stop playing overprotective big brother and put Hawkeye on the phone. That guy takes care of his teammates.”

            “I _am_ taking care of my teammates,” I snap. “ _You_ are my teammate.”  
           

            “He’s got nowhere else to go,” Nat breathes. “Clint, please. He was comfortable there.”

            “I’ve got the twins here. The house will be packed with people, and last I checked, Bruce wasn’t a fan of Wanda,” I say.

            “That was then and in that timeframe you weren’t a fan of her either,” Nat says. “It doesn’t count. And we’ve stayed in that house with almost the full team before.”

            “That was for a few days, Nat. SHIELD’s been locked down for a week, and there’s been no word on the wires about…”

            “He’s one extra person. Just because he… he ran off…”  
           

             “And hurt you,” I put in. “He hurt you after you opened up to him. He couldn’t even talk to you before he ran away.”

            “Clint, he—shit. I didn’t tell you everything, okay! So—so what? I’ve got him with me. We’ve got a rental car, we’re halfway there. Should we turn around?”

            I groan as I pace the wooden floor of the kitchen. Not even an hour ago, I’d eaten breakfast with my family, kissed Lila and Cooper goodbye and watched my wife pack them into the car for school. I hear sounds of the twins moving around the house, running water and dropping things.

            “Fine. Bring him. He can sleep on the couch in the living room.”

            I can hear Nat’s raised brow, but no way am I going to say anything that might hint that I approve of Bruce Banner sleeping in the same room with Nat. If I had my way, he would never breathe in the same room as Nat. 

             “Okay,” Nat says after a pause. “We’ll be there in a few hours.” She disconnects.

            If the damn phone didn’t cost so much, I’d throw it across the room.  Damn Bruce Banner.  I sit down on a bar stool at the kitchen counter trying to stir up any good will for Bruce.  The last thing I want is to subject my family to a hostile environment for an unset amount of time. Bruce: genius, introvert, awkward, decent guy—or rather he was.

            My hands clench. I can’t look past it. Nat gave herself to Bruce, told him everything, and he hadn’t realized how important it was. He’d thrown it away. Nat doesn’t tell people about her past. I only know because of a mission I was given to assassinate her, and Fury knows because he gave me that mission. And hell, Loki knows because he hijacked it from my head when he controlled my mind. I shudder. I’m so glad that asshat’s dead.

            Laura doesn’t even know the full truth because Nat couldn’t bear to even let _me_ share all of it with her while Nat had stood outside of the room. Bruce was let into Nat’s special circle, and… I shake my head. No, thoughts like these won’t help me be civil.  Maybe I’m being irrational and biased, but Nat’s my little sister. I’m supposed to be this way when it comes to her.

            “Careful, Old Man, you wrinkle your forehead when you think that hard. Those lines will stay there forever.”

            I glower at the brat, only seeing his tail-end as he roots through the pantry.  He comes out with an unopened box of graham crackers and hops onto the stool next to mine.

            “What are you wrinkling over?” he asks as he frees his snack from the packaging. It’s a marvel watching how much food the brat can put away and still not have it be enough fuel for him.

            “Your Aunt Natasha’s on her way,” I say, reaching over to steal a graham cracker from him. There’re a few more boxes in the pantry. He can get more if he wants.

            “Aunt?”

            “Well, I think of her as my sister, and Lila and Coop call her ‘Aunt’.”

            “This is getting weird, Old Man.” Pietro stuffs a cracker in his mouth. “Besides, Natasha is too hot to be my aunt.”

            I stare at him hard, recalling Wanda’s story about his affair with a much older woman, and then the crazy Hydra relationships. None of that sits right with me. It’s not normal, not healthy. “Pietro, maybe we should talk about…”—oh man—“…sex.”

            He chokes on his graham cracker and I thump his back a few times.

            “Wh—what?” he croaks. “Why would you…?”

            Oh God. This is awful. I’ve got nothing prepared. “I know you started at a really young age.”

            “ _Dumnezuele_! She told you?” He looks absolutely mortified. He holds up both hands. “Look, I don’t need to talk about sex. I know how to do it. I know to use protection so there are no babies.”

            “That’s not it, brat,” I say gently. I don’t want to do this, but if I don’t, who will?  “I… just want to make sure you know about the best reasons to have sex with someone.”

            Pietro covers his face with his hands and moans. “I’m going to kill Wanda.”  
           

            “Hey, go easy. She was just correcting me on something I’d assumed.” I set my hands on the counter.

            “Which was?”

            “That neither one of you had had experiences yet.” I sigh. “You were so young when you went into Hydra, and you’ve only been free of them for a few weeks. And in those weeks you haven’t had time… so I just thought you were virgins. I never thought that you would…”

            “Sleep with any of the girls I bunked with in Hydra? It was awkward with Wanda there knowing what I was doing, but there were times: between tests, in hallways, bathrooms.”

            Oh God, I don’t want to hear this, but when I turn to study Pietro, he’s uncovered his face.  The shadows in his eyes capture me.

            “It was always desperate, fast, and most of the time, I never saw the person again.” His voice cracks, and he turns away to cough. The brat sounds like hell. I get up to pour him some water. By the time I come back, he’s clearing his throat. I press the Dora the Explorer cup into his hands and watch him drink.

            “Did you care for the girls?” I ask. “Were you ever in love?”

            He shrugs and stares into the cup.

            I’m an ass. “I’m sorry.”

            “Her name was Alina. She joined the experiment when we did. She had a twin brother named Andrei. We weren’t together much in the first year or so, but after that we’d end up in the same rooms. She was there when the doctors took Wanda away and I needed someone.  They—they had taken Andrei, the same way they had done Wanda, a year before and he’d come back under a sheet.”

            He drinks more water. “She was beautiful, or at least I thought she was, maybe other people wouldn’t think so. She was so driven, like Wanda. Even after losing Andrei, she still had faith in the experiments. She could move things with her mind, but it was hard for her. So many headaches.”

            He looks at me, eyes so dark they’re like black holes into his soul. I reach out and take his shoulders.  “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me anymore.”

            He shakes his head. “You want to know if I know the best reasons.”

            His melancholy smile makes me want to cuss myself out. But how could I know my questions would bring this out. If Fury doesn’t come up with a mission to smoke out all of the scientists who had anything to do with the “enhanced” experiments, I’ll go rogue.

            “We were 17 when we first made love,” Pietro says, his voice soft with reverie. “It was the first time I’d ever wanted to go slow and be gentle. I didn’t know before then what it was like to have another person to open up to, to love, and how different it was from loving Wanda. That love was…” he shakes his head. “I just know that I haven’t felt it again. That is a ‘best’ reason, to share your body and soul with someone else and have them take yours and understand and accept and love you back.”

            He swallows hard and looks at his knees. “And then she went away for testing and came back another body under a sheet.”

            I sigh, pulling the kid into a light hug. He rests against me, not fighting it. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. I wonder if Wanda’s ever been in love. Damned if I ask her, but these kids blow my mind with what they don’t and do know about life.

“It’s okay,” he says, pulling away from me and going back to his graham crackers.  He gives me a sidelong glance. “Milk would be okay too.”

I stare him down as he continues to crunch away. “You got jokes.”

“You got milk?” He finishes the water and pushes the empty cup across the counter toward me.

I snatch the cup. “I got something for you all right. Might not be milk.”

“I’ll tell Laura that all I asked for was a glass of milk, which is full of protein and vitamins for strong and healthy bones, and you refused me.”

“I should be recording this! Laura says you aren’t a brat, but it’s because you don’t do this around her,” I grumble as I make my way to the fridge. “I think Murphy’s out to get me.”

“Who is Murphy?” Pietro asks, mouth obviously full.

“Ah, it’s just a saying. Whenever things can go wrong, they do. It’s called Murphy’s Law.  First, it’s Nat and Bruce, and now I get stuck with you—”

“Being stuck with me is a privilege.”

“You keep on believing that,” I snort, pouring his milk. I put my back to him to hide my smirk. Wanda says Pietro’s doesn’t bounce back as fast as he pretends to, and I know the kid’s got some deep-set issues, but he’s humoring me and it’s damn amusing. I work the smile off my lips before I face him and give him the milk.

Half the box of graham crackers is gone.  He breaks a cracker in half, dunks it in the cup and swirls it around, letting it partially dissolve. “So, _Aunt_ Natasha is coming. If she’s family, why are you upset about it? Does it have something to do with Bruce Banner?”

“It has everything to do with Bruce. Green bastard.”

“Did she find him?” Pietro asks, eating his soggy cracker and drinking crumb-filled milk.

“Yeah, and she’s bringing him here to stay for a while.” I want to beat my head on the counter. “But I don’t want him here, not after how he treated her.”  
           

Pietro nods. “He hurt your sister, and now you hate him. I understand that.”

Huh. Of course he does. “It’s hard to look past that. Logic says Bruce is all twisted up inside, with the Hulk and hating violence and all the chaos that happened.”

            Pietro sets down the crackers and contemplates me. “Some of the violence and chaos happened because of Wanda and me. So, we contributed to Bruce hurting your sister. Do you...”

“No!” I snap. “I don’t blame you two for anything. Get that out of your head now.”

Pietro shrugs, but doesn’t start eating again.

“Hey.” I reclaim my stool and nudge him with my elbow. “Eat. Nobody’s gonna want the rest of those after your germy ass breathed all over them.”

He chuckles. “No one around here seems worried about my germs.”

“Because only someone as rundown as you are would get as sick,” I say. “How are you feeling anyway?”

Another shrug, but he goes after the graham crackers again. “What are you going to do about Bruce?”

“Welcome him. I have to,” I say. “But I’m not a good actor. So, I won’t be able to pretend I want him here.”

“So you’ll avoid him?” Pietro dunks another cracker. “The house isn’t big enough for that.”

“I know!” Ugh. I would pull at my hair, but I’m sure the brat would come up with some kind of premature balding joke. He’s not getting anymore ammo from me.

“You could make him sleep and take his meals in the barn.” Pietro looks so innocent when he says it I almost buy that he means it, until he laughs.

“Oh, ha-ha.” I whack him on the shoulder. “Just you wait until Wanda brings home somebody you don’t think is good enough for her.”

Pietro raises a brow. “You don’t think Bruce is good enough for Natasha? Because he hurt her, or because…”

“He’s damaged.” Oh no, I didn’t mean to say that, but now it’s out. I never approved of the relationship from the start. “I don’t hold that against him, but Nat’s been hurt, used, abused, brainwashed, you name it, it happened to her.  She needs somebody normal, stable. Not some guy who turns into a green monster when he gets mad and then spends the rest of his life moping about it. If things go bad, he’ll run instead of trying to work it out with her, and I’m afraid she’ll… regress.”

“Regress?”

“Before she and I clicked, before Laura and the kids, Nat was cold, ruthless. She only worked for SHIELD because she didn’t want to be killed. That was her only alternative then: work for us or die. It helped that SHIELD paid her well too, but that’s how it was. It took years for her to come around. She’s still… getting there, but you can ask Laura about how far Nat’s come. And now she’s ready to try a real relationship with someone, and she picks Bruce Banner. Why not Steve? He’s got his problems yes, but he’s _Captain America_. And now Bruce screwed up and ran just like I knew he would.  And she tracked him down, even while on a job, and is dragging his ass back here to sleep on my couch.”

“And Natasha knows how you feel?” Pietro asks.

“She knows.” I put my elbows on the counter. “She just doesn’t care. She’s in love with the guy.”  And there’s nothing I can do about that but wait for her heart to be crushed and hope I can help her fix it.

“But you are willing to try to support her anyway. You’re letting Bruce stay here, and you’re willing to try to avoid him since you can’t pretend to play nice.” Pietro claps a hand on my shoulder. “You’re a good brother. I would take a guy who hurt Wanda over to the side, punch him in the face and the gut, and threaten to kill him if he made any kind of contact with my sister ever again. You’re being diplomatic.”

I blink at the skinny kid beside me with a graham-cracker-crumb milk moustache trying to sound tough. It makes me laugh. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” I get side-eyed again. “But if you’re really thankful, you’ll get me more milk.”

 “You little…” I hear the sound of Laura’s car pulling up.  “Sure, kid, I’ll get your milk.”

 

***

 

Family dinner with Bruce Banner goes just like I thought it would, awkwardly. Laura tries to start conversations with Nat that include Bruce and me, and Bruce grunts and I roll my eyes. Lila and Coop are like Golden Retrievers that smell a steak, and can’t help but ask blunt questions about the Hulk smashing up cities. And Nat tries to turn the conversation, but when it turns to the kids now wanting to know if Bruce and Nat will get married, she shuts up and Laura sends the kids to eat dinner in front of the TV.

The twins stay out of the entire affair, Pietro claiming a headache and going to bed early, and Wanda wanting to sit with him and read. Damn deserters. They left me alone on the battlefield. But it’s not battle, it’s just dinner.

I eat like my food’s gonna run away, not even chewing some of it, in a rush to be done. “I’ll take dinner to the twins!”

“ _I’ll_ take dinner to the twins,” Laura says, staring me down.  “You guys relax and talk.” She stares Nat down too and smiles at Bruce. “And there’s vanilla bean ice cream in the freezer. Clint was supposed to make peach cobbler, but he—”

            “Hey! The lasagna is a work of art,” I say. “I put my foot in it.” And it’s true. I stewed about Bruce and Nat the whole time I was making it and got a bit more creative than planned, adding veggies and different cheeses and meats. I didn’t have time to make Laura’s peach cobbler.  And I swear it was like I told her I forgot to pay the mortgage and we were losing the house from her reaction.

“It—it was really good,” Bruce stammers. “Best I’ve had.”  The man looks at me like a guy trying to win approval from his fiancé’s father.  Lila and Coop’s questions about Nat and Bruce getting married swarm my thoughts and I give Bruce a Hawkeye scowl.

“Behave Clint!” Laura snaps at me as she fixes two plates with hearty helpings of lasagna and salad.  She sighs. “I don’t think I’ll be able to carry both of these by myself.  Bruce, do you think you could help me out?”

“Oh—uh—yes! Sure! H—here!” Bruce almost knocks the table over as he springs up.

Laura hands him a plate. “Follow me.”

            And they leave me alone with Nat. She huffs. I huff back and start gathering dirty dishes. Nat joins me as I walk to the sink. I put plates and glasses in the sink and turn on the hot water. I don’t believe in dishwashers. There’s no way everything gets clean in those things.

“You hate doing dishes,” I say.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make me ungrateful. I don’t mind helping out,” she says. She adds green dish soap to the water and watches the suds form for a second, then looks up at me.  “Clint? Do you want to talk?”

“What’s there to say? You made your choice.”

“I did,” she agrees. “Clint.” She shakes her head. “I love him. I can’t just give him up right now.  He’s struggling and I can help him.”

“You don’t get into a romantic relationship to help someone. You can just be his friend and do that,” I growl.

“I don’t want to just be friends with him.” She reaches into the soapy water and starts scrubbing a plate with a yellow sponge. “I wish you could try to understand.”

“He’s not good enough, Nat.” I put it out there. “You said it, he needs help. You don’t need someone who needs help.”

“Because I’m messed up too, right?” Nat laughs bitterly. “We’ll both freak out one day and go on a killing spree?”

I groan, rinsing out a glass. “You always have to go to the extreme.”

“Because the extreme always happens to us, doesn’t it? Analyze your life, Clint. Aside from this house, is anything about your life normal?”

“My wife and kids…”

“Know you’re a spy and that you live out in the middle of nowhere so you can land a jet in the yard to make it home for family dinners. Oh, and sometimes you bring master assassins, super humans and alien gods to those dinners.”

“Thor never came to dinner,” I mutter. “He left.”

“Dammit, Clint!” Nat throws her sponge at me.

“I got it, I know. Our lives our weird, so of course your new boyfriend is weird. But does he have to be a rage monster in his spare time? Can you let him try to sort that out—if he can—before you get involved? There’re more normal people you can date, ones who don’t take off in jets—”

“Like I never ran away before!” Nat snaps.

“That’s different.” I glare at the wet spot on my t-shirt where the sponge hit me, then pick it up off the floor.

“Only because it’s me,” she says. She snatches the sponge from me and tosses it on the counter. “Clint, try. Bruce is your teammate. Before all this, you wanted to help him. You liked him. Go back to that.”

I grit my teeth. “It’s not that easy, Nat. I don’t…”

“You don’t what?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt like that,” I say.

“I’m a big girl, Clint. I can take hurting like woman.” Nat puffs out her chest. “Trust me to deal with things like a normal person if things with Bruce go sour.”

“I want to,” I sigh. “But if you can’t, I don’t know if I can fix it.”

“Clint, I’m not who I was when you first met me. You know that.”

I nod. “Still, I worry.”

“Because you’re a daddy, and daddy instincts spill over into everything I hear,” Nat says, passing me a clean plate. “Dry that.”

            “Yeah.”

            We fall into a comfortable pattern of washing and drying. And Nat asks me how Lila and Coop are doing in school and the latest developments on Laura’s pregnancy. She’s excited for the baby too, even if it’s a boy. I’ve got nothing but good stuff to report on all those fronts. I don’t ask her anything about what she’s been doing, not wanting to know, and she doesn’t offer.

            “What about the twins?” she asks. “Li, Coop and Laura sure like them.”

            “They’re good. They fit right in as part of the family.”

            “Wanda makes Bruce nervous. He wasn’t so sure about coming when he heard she’d be here.”

  
            “Not surprised, but he’s got good manners and she’s a great kid. They’ll work it out.” I trust Wanda to be nice and Bruce to warm to it, if he’s not too keyed up. He’d seemed kind of fragile at dinner. “Is Bruce..?” Oh dammit. “Is he okay?”

            Nat smiles. “He’s shaky, but getting it together. I thought here would be a good place to do that. I can always get it together here.”

            “Yeah, you can,” I say. “I changed the sheets on your bed.”

            “Mm, thanks.”

            “Bruce still isn’t sleeping in there. I made the couch up all nice and comfy for him. Even got out the Power Ranger pillow case.”

            Nat chuckles. “Can’t win ‘em all.”

            I whip the drying towel at her. She jumps back and chucks another sponge at me, hits right in the groin. She’s always aimed low.

            “I’m glad you’re okay.” I use the towel to try to dry my pants.

            “Yeah?” Nat smirks. “I’m glad you are too, with the twins. It’s a lot, but you’re doing great.”

            “Thanks.” After a beat. “You are too.”

            She grins and dunks her hands back into sudsy waters, fishing for dishes. And I get out another towel, ready to dry—the dynamic duo is back.

 

 

**Author's Note: Just a quick author interjection guys. I am really sorry about this crazy formatting. I'm still trying to get it right. Bear with me!**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dumnezuele—Oh my God.


	9. What About Love?

_Wanda Maximoff_

 

I've heard the saying "love is blind" and always thought it stupid. Banner and Natasha aren't stupid, but they look stupid together. It seems all wrong when you have a choice of so many. In the lab, handsome faces weren't plentiful, bodies were gaunt, intelligence was trivial; I basically took what I could get when necessary. And it wasn't like we'd hold hands and go to the park or the movies afterward. It wasn't dating or love, just sex.

How can you fall in love with someone so your opposite? I don't understand. Pietro was in love once, but Alina might have been beautiful if she'd seen sunlight and better food. She'd been nice too, but not very smart, I don't think. If he'd had a choice, maybe he wouldn't have fallen in love with her of all people.

In books and on TV, the people in love seem to complement each other in some way. Clint complements Laura, they are both funny with strong wills and opinions, and they are both attractive people. I watch Natasha and Banner, searching for complements and finding none. Banner is intelligent, but his brand of intelligence doesn't suit hers. And, well, Banner is not very handsome when compared to Steve, Sam, Clint or even Stark—and Thor is on a level all his own. Natasha has so many choices, why Banner, especially when the choice obviously makes Clint unhappy. Clint doesn't think the pair suits each other either.

"I hope you know spying is rude," Laura's voice purrs as she comes to sit beside me on the porch swing. She grunts as she lowers herself and grins with accomplishment as she slides closer to me.

I give her a half smile. "I'm not spying. I'm simply making observations."

"Oh?" she asks, following my gaze to Natasha and Banner strolling through a field. They're fading specs in the horizon as they walk side by side, so close sometimes they look like one large entity.

"I don't understand their relationship," I say. "They seem... incompatible."

"Why?" Laura asks.

I look at my hands and wonder what Laura will think of my reasons. "Well... Bruce is a genius and he seems nice—I never really got to see him interact with people when he wasn't... you know, a monster. But here, he's quiet and mild-mannered. But that's what makes it seem so wrong—him and Natasha. He's... kind of boring, and he's not..." I trail off at the amused gleam in Laura's eyes. Is she laughing at me?

My face feels hot. I'm probably talking nonsense to her. I hate feeling stupid.

"You don't think Bruce is very good-looking?" Laura chuckles and I duck my head and stiffen as her arm comes around my shoulders. "He's not good-looking to me either. The first time I saw him, I thought: Oh. That's the guy Nat likes? I mean, there's Steve. Have you seen Steve?"

I chuckle with her, the heat seeping out of my cheeks. "Yes, I've seen Steve." Steve is sexy. "So why doesn't Natasha like Steve? Does he not like her? Was he rude?" But I can't see Steve being rude to anyone, not even bad guys. When Pietro and I had stood against the Avengers, he'd been the one to offer us an out as soon as he'd seen us.

"He's not her type, I suppose," Laura says. "Though, I think if I was single I could make Steve my type. Thor too, but he's got his scientist girlfriend."

"Thor is dating a scientist? She must be beautiful." I sigh wistfully.

"She's pretty, I guess. But not everyone would think so. Thor, from what I hear, is attracted to the power of her personality." Laura hugs me. "Looks don't make a relationship, Wanda. Looks and lust go hand in hand, and lust leads a lot of people astray."

"But there has to be some lust for a relationship to work," I say. "If you don't... you know...want the person, then how will you be..." The flush comes back.

Laura hugs me again. "Don't be embarrassed! You're right. You're very right. But some people you don't become attracted to until you get to know them. Their sense of humor or their thoughtfulness, or heck, plug in any personality trait that you like, draws you in, and then next thing you know, you're falling for the guy you didn't think you even liked."

I wrinkle my nose. "I... I guess I'm shallow then. I don't think I could fall in love with an ugly man. I told myself—well, I just knew that if I left the lab, I would not settle for someone I didn't find attractive because then I would have choices."

"There are plenty of attractive jerks out there, Wanda," Laura says gently. "Looking good doesn't make someone a person worth loving. Could you fall in love with someone who mistreats you or doesn't understand you? Someone who doesn't get your jokes, who's prejudiced or just plain dumb? What if it's someone who can't accept your family or friends? Hates your power?"

I frown. I don't like to think about extraneous factors. Sometimes, I just want to imagine a handsome prince, like from one of those American shows, The Bachelor. Sadly to say, that's all I really know of romance—snatches from what I've seen of badly dubbed American TV shows when I was little, and then the black and white and Technicolor movies we'd been allowed to watch in the lab to help us learn English.

"And then there's taste," Laura says. "Not everyone's is the same. Someone I might find very physically attractive, you might look at and think: yuck."

"I don't think Thor and Steve are yuck."

"Haha!" Laura snorts. "But there are some women out there who many not find Steve or Thor very attractive. I'd think they were crazy, but some people don't like their men pretty or over-muscled. And because everyone's tastes run different, there are enough potential mates in the world to go around. I am a firm believer that there are several matches for everyone out there."

"Several matches? That many?" I frown. "What about 'the one'? Isn't Clint 'the one' for you?"

Laura laughs. "Clint's 'the one' for me. But before Clint, I had others I'd thought were 'the one'. Trial and error, I guess. Dating, ugh. Glad that's over. But you know..." She smiles, eyes crinkling around the corners. "Sometimes things happen. You find 'the one' and it doesn't work out, sometimes they're taken from you too soon, or you just didn't get along well enough to live happily together. Some say they'll never love again and they don't, but others do. Someone else comes along and that person becomes 'the one'."

"But they aren't really 'the one', if there was another," I say.

"No," Laura agrees. "I'm only saying 'the one' for your sake. I don't believe in 'the one'. The world offers you choices and you hope you pick the best one. I know I made the right choice for me."

"And lucky for you that Clint is handsome?" I press.

"Not everyone finds Clint handsome. I do, you do," Laura says with a shrug. "You may bring home a man that you think is gorgeous and the rest of us will wonder if you need glasses. When you like someone, they start becoming more physically appealing to you."

It's a lot to consider. I sigh. "Well..."

"Sweetie, when you live a little longer and experience a little more normal out in the real world, you'll understand what I'm talking about a little better. You've practically been in a glass jar for some of what a lot of people found to be the most confusing years of their lives sexually," Laura says.

I blush a little, then giggle, remembering how awkward it was for Clint to talk about sex. Laura talks to me like a best friend or older sister. Maybe it's awkward for men to talk about sex with women, but Pietro never had a problem. But then, Pietro and I have a special relationship. I bite my lip, thinking of something else Laura said—and what Clint had said too.

What if who I bring home doesn't like Pietro?—Laura had put that out there. And Clint had hinted that he'd thought when Pietro and I really started dating that our relationship would change and that Pietro would hide even more from me than he's doing now. And that maybe I'd want to hide things from him.

Hurt echoes in my chest like a weak second heartbeat. I don't want to hide things from my brother. He's my world; I want to share. But if he doesn't want to share anymore, what can I do?

"Wanda, are you okay?" Laura's warm arm is still around my shoulder. She smells of lavender laundry detergent and fresh air, just like I do. I love being in this house with its family laundry days and huge yards and fields.

I wipe at my eyes, glad to find them dry, and nod. "I'm fine. I was just thinking about finding a boyfriend, falling in love, and maybe having that love not get along with Pietro. And vice versa, what if Pietro loves someone who can't stand me?"

I turn to look at her fully, and she meets my eyes. "I don't think I'd be able to stand it if Pietro put more distance between us than there already is right now. And I wouldn't put distance between us. My love would have to accept my brother or I wouldn't love him."

"Understandable requirement," Laura says. "Some people don't care what their families think when it comes to love. And if their families love them, they will come to tolerate the person they dislike. Pietro would come around, unless you chose a real jerk. Sometimes, who we love isn't the best person for us but we're too blinded to see it, and family does have to step in. You'll hate them for it, but when the blinders eventually come off, and they will, you'll realize what a fool you've been. So, I hope you'd take that person not liking Pietro and Pietro maybe not liking that person into consideration and wonder why."

"What if the reason is..." I look away for a moment. "I don't know what Clint's told you about us. But Pietro and I are very close. We've always been, even before our parents, and after they died, we became two halves of a whole. And now, with my powers, we're bonded. I feel him and he feels me. In the lab, no one thought it was strange, but... a regular man, one who never knew hurt or hunger or desperation, would he understand that Pietro is my soulmate? I'd lose half my soul without him."

Laura wears a deep frown, her brow furrowing. I feel her concern. "Wanda, do you ever worry that maybe you're too close?"

"No." I pull away from her. "Never." A different kind of hurt than the one I feel for Pietro's current distance beats through me now. "I thought..." why did I think Laura would understand? No outsider ever has.

"Look, Wanda." Laura pulls her arm back and sets her hands in her lap. "What you two have is beautiful, and no one wants to see that end. But you're too dependent on each other. You have to be able to function on your own, and Clint and I are afraid that you can't. That you lose all reason when it comes to one another—"

"Don't you lose all reason when it comes to Clint, or Cooper or Lila?" I ask. "You'd do anything for them because you love them. I don't see a problem."

Laura nods and sighs. "You're right about that, but I think you're only thinking of life and death scenarios. Here's a different one: Cooper, Lila," she pets her belly, "and Nate are going to grow up. Maybe they'll get married and one will have a husband or wife who can't stand me. Maybe they'll move far away and I'll have grandchildren I only see twice a year. I won't be happy about the distance. I'll miss them, but I'll make do with what I can get. I'll still love them and be a fully functional, rational person on my own. Clint's away too much for me to lean on him. But I'm fine. I don't  _need_ to lean on him. Can you say that?"

"I can do things by myself!" I just don't want to. "Pietro and I were separated a lot in the labs. Our powers are different, so we did different tests."

"But you always knew he was near. You could talk to him, mind to mind," Laura says. "What happens when you can't because he's too far away from you?"

I blink back a flash of fear—for 48 seconds that happened and I'd wanted to die with him. "He'll never be that far away from me."  
"Wanda, you're both going to be Avengers," Laura says, taking my hand and holding it when I try to rip it away. "You might have to go on separate missions and be thousands, maybe millions of miles away from each other. And the missions might be long. Clint's gone away for months at a time."

Months—can I go months without my brother? Forty-eight seconds... I couldn't handle 48 seconds. But then, he'd been dead, not just gone on a trip or mission. He'd eventually come back from trips and missions. But what if he's killed, again, and I'm too far away to bring him back. Or what if I can't bring him back at all?

"I don't want him to be an Avenger," I murmur. I squeeze Laura's fingers. "He died. What if I can't save him again?" What if he won't let me save him again? I lower my head, hair falling around my face. "I don't want to be without him. I lose everything. My parents, the friends I made in the lab, now you want me to let go of my brother?"

"Oh, no, honey." Laura hugs me again. "You never have to let go of Pietro. We just worry that you won't move forward without holding each others' hands. You need to untwine a little."

"Untwine," I whisper. "He's my best friend."

"And one day, your husband will want to be your best friend," Laura says. "Would you deny him that for Pietro's sake? And would you have Pietro deny his own wife that position?"

"You're talking about the future—far in the future," I say.

"Maybe," Laura agrees. "But it's something you should consider since you're already thinking about love. You're going to meet a lot of people, Wanda."

I frown. "When Pietro was in love—and I know he was because his mind was so bright and happy. When we were together, all he talked about was Alina. When she was there, his eyes were only for her. I was... jealous. It was like he'd forgotten me, but when I'd go away for testing, he'd always be there waiting for me to come back. He'd hug me and it'd be like before, and then he'd go back to Alina. When Alina died..." I shook my head, remembering the jagged edges of Pietro's broken heart. I'd put him back together, and I was the most important person to him again, my place in his heart shared with no one.

"You'd have gotten over that jealousy, Wanda, especially when you found yourself someone to love," Laura says gently. "You're not used to sharing, because you've never had to. It's natural."

"You don't think we're strange?" I ask. Some of the agents, staff and medical personnel around SHIELD had given us sideways glances, like they thought something was wrong our relationship. 

"Not at all." She studies me. "Have other people said that to you?"

"Not in spoken words, but I get impressions from others. Some think the way Pietro and I are so close is wrong. They..." heat rushes to my face "...they think we're romantic with each other. It's disgusting."

Laura snorts. "People and their backwards opinions. You don't take them seriously, do you?"

I shake my head. "But I'd never want you or Clint or anyone in our group to think that."

"Well, we don't," Laura says firmly, "and anyone who does is sick."

I nod and rest my head on her shoulder. Using my power, I push the swing, the gentle rhythm soothes me.

Laura chuckles and strokes my hair behind my ear. "That's you, right?"

"Yes." I continue pushing the swing.

"Good," Laura says. "If it wasn't, Clint was going to get another project."

"Clint likes projects," I say.

Natasha and Banner come back into view—I squint—they're holding hands and Natasha's laughing. Maybe they're happy and bright like Pietro when he was with Alina. I'm tempted to touch their minds. I want to see Banner through Natasha's eyes, does she see him as handsome because he's kind to her and makes her laugh?

I resist temptation as I watch Natasha and Bruce make their way to the porch. Their faces are slightly red from the cold, Banner sniffles like he's catching a cold, but a sense of comfort drifts from them without me having to touch their minds. Natasha grins up at Bruce, her expression relaxed and open. Banner blinks seeming astonished at first, then a grin of his own appears. He looks like a kid after opening a good present—it's kind of cute.

"What are you two planning to do today?" Laura asks casually. We still sit cuddled, my head on her shoulder.

Natasha raises a brow at us, eyes going from Laura to me. "We were just gonna watch a movie in the living room. We've got a lot to catch up on. Might even look at what's on your DVR."

"Sounds good. We've been catching Clint up on Dr. Who and Game of Thrones," Laura says.

"Oh yeah?" Natasha sounds interested; she still stares at Laura and me though. "So... you've adopted a teenager."

"Two," Laura says. Banner chooses that moment to sneeze, and I feel Laura tense. "And you'd better not bring those sniffles anywhere near my teenage boy. He's already sick."

Banner looks startled. He sniffles juicily and nods. "I'm sorry. I don't think I'm coming down with anything. It's just from it being so cold outside. But uh..." he looks sideways at me and clears his throat. "I could uh... take a look at Maxi—Pietro. I'm not a medical doctor, but..."

"Oh, would you?" Laura gives me another squeeze, and then pulls away from me to turn her attention to Banner. "He's off with Clint, but they'll be back soon enough. I'm worried that he's not any better than he was when he first got here."

That same worry threads itself through my insides. My brother eats and eats, has feeding sessions, takes his vitamins and proteins, but if anything, he seems more rundown. Maybe he could eat more, but he gets so tired of it, and too many feedings in one day make him nauseous. But he says he's okay—just tired. All the time.

Banner nods. "Um, it would help if I knew more about his condition."

Laura nudges me.

"His medical records are stored on a tablet," I say, meeting Banner's brown eyes. The man looks at me warily, like I'm a bad dog off its leash. And I deserve it after what I did to his mind in Wakanda. "Thank you for wanting to help him."

Banner runs a gloved hand through his hair, looking awkward. "I... don't mind. He's just a kid." He nods at me as if to say: so are you.

Laura claps her hands together then holds them out to Natasha who laughs and tugs Laura into a standing position. "I think," Laura says, "we should all watch a movie until it's time to get Lila and Cooper from school. And I also think that Wanda and Nat should make popcorn and hot chocolate and that mine should have whipped cream, extra marshmallows and a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream. Come on, Bruce. Let's pick the movie."

Laura links her arm through a bewildered Banner's and leads him into the house.

I blink after her, and then glance at Natasha who's looking down at me.

"Come on, Girl Twin. When pregnant people give you an order, you do it." She waits for me to get up, and we stand eye-to-eye. "I haven't been around to get to know you or your brother, but my family seems to love you guys. You better be worth it."

I shrug. I don't understand all types of love. Not Natasha and Banner, not a love that might pull me away from my brother, not yet. But I do understand family love. "We love them too, and I know they're worth it."

Natasha smirks at me. "Oh they are, Baby Girl, meaning my eyes are on you two. These guys took you in fast, and I know what kind of powers you have. If I find out..."

My eyes narrow. "My powers proved ineffective on Clint, and I'd never..." I swallow, but I don't break gazes with her. She won't make me look away. "I'd never harm them or let anyone else harm them. I like being here with them. If you have a problem, take it up with Clint and Laura."

Wind rustles through bear trees, the porch swing creaks. The sound of the TV being turned on warbles through the open door. Time passes.

Suddenly, Natasha laughs. "You're good, kid. Good enough for me. I believe you."

I frown at her. "You were testing me?"

"Why not?" Natasha pats my shoulder. "So, like I said before, a pregnant person gave us an order. We'd better do it." She winks at me, then strides through the front door, calling out, "Hey, the hot chocolate's still in the same tin?"

I don't move for a moment, dazed. A test. I'd test anyone who claimed to love Pietro. I'd pick their mind clean. I'd picked Alina's and found her to be pure. Only the best for my brother. And for Natasha it is only the best for Clint and Laura.

"Girl Twin! Come on!"

I smile, feeling loved.


	10. A Day in Wally-World

_Clint Barton_

 

If I had known going to Super Walmart would be so exciting for Pietro, I would have brought him here days ago. As it is, I need a couple of hardware supplies along with a few groceries, some bathroom junk, a new backpack for Cooper, and whatever Pietro wants. I kinda forgot that Wanda's the only one of them who got to go on a few shopping sprees. So, naturally, about a minute after we enter the store, the brat's gone.

I grab a basket and surf the aisles, inspecting, price-checking, tossing things in the basket, thinking better of it and taking them out. All and all, a normal trip.

Suddenly, I tense.

Something's not right. I look left and right, ready to reach for the weapons I'm not wearing. I hate being on a hair trigger when I'm at home, but something's off. I pull out my cell phone, about to dial Pietro's number and tell him to come to where I am, when I hear it.

The  _click-click_  of a semi-automatic.

Oh shit. I can't see the potential shooter from where I am near the back of the store in the dairy section. Screams come from the front of the store, and rounds are fired. I call 911 as I abandon my cart and drop into the familiar movements of a soldier on the field. Objectives: find the brat; take down the sniper. From the sound of the shots, I can tell the direction the person's moving in. Feet pound and shoes squeak on the tiled floor. The sound of metal shelves and racks falling, supplies and produce thudding, and breaking glass fill the air.

"911, state your emergency."

I hold the phone like an old fashioned walkie-talkie, relaying information on the scene and the address of the store to the operator. I hang up once the man on the line confirms units are on the way and text Pietro:  _Hide._

"OH MY GOD!" someone cries.

It's like the world's coming down with the cacophony of multiple shelves crashing to the ground at once. The gun fires wildly then stops, people shriek. I creep faster, poking my head out at the end of my aisle and staring open-mouthed at the chaos of overturned pantries and displays; food, toys and cosmetics are scattered everywhere. I make my way to the front of the store where it sounds like a crowd's gathered and stand on my toes to see what's going on.

A security guard pins the gunman, a beefy guy wearing all black, to the ground, while another security guard kneels next to a scrawny guy—probably a teenager, in blue jeans, on his knees clutching his arm—"Shit. Let me through!" I shove people left and right until I get to Pietro. I kneel on the other side of him.

The security guard jerks his head over to look at me. "Hey, I need you to step back—"

"I'm with the kid," I snap at the guy. To Pietro, I say, "You okay?" Did you do this?—is what I really want to ask. Hell. This place is a mess, but—as I take full scope of the room, there's no blood. No one looks hurt, just shocked, terrified, awestruck. No one runs away, they just stare. Cell phones come out and I know I'm gonna see my mug on the news tonight.

Panting, Pietro looks up at me, his eyes sunken and dark, his skin waxy pale; his body trembles so fast it practically vibrates. Damn. "Hey!" I grab the security guard's shoulder and point to a couple of small fridges by registers that haven't been overturned. "If there's anything in there with sugar or protein, get it all and bring it here."

The guard nods and runs off. I rub Pietro's back. A few people in blue Walmart smocks start coming forward, yelling for the crowd to stay calm and asking if anyone's hurt. A lady wearing a name badge with the word "manager" on it comes over to us, her face pale, her red hair frazzled.

I point at her. "You, does the McDonald's over there serve milkshakes?"

"Uh—huh, I think so..."

"Run over and find out, if they do, start bringing over as many as you can. Get help. This kid needs food, lots of it, fast. Liquid's best." She blinks at the orders then runs off toward the in-house McDonald's.

The security guard returns with an armload of coke, sprite, muscle milk, and juice. I take a bottle of coke and unscrew the lid for Pietro and get him sitting flat. I press the bottle to his lips, and he takes it from me, guzzling the soda. I have another ready before he's done.

"Is he diabetic?" the guard asks. He's staring at Pietro like he's some alien entity come down to Earth.

"Kind of," I grunt, wishing I dared to ask the brat what all he had done in front of these people. But I want him to finish drinking his nutrients first.

Sirens sound in the distance. It's about time.

Pietro goes through four cokes, a sprite, two bottles of muscle milk, and a bottle of apple juice, before the store manager and two McDonald's employees come over with nine large milkshakes on trays—how nice, they even have lids and straws. I wonder if the employees snatched them off tables before the people who'd ordered them could take a swig. They set the trays down in front of Pietro and me, stepping back as the kid goes after those milkshakes like a man possessed.

I frown at the way he favors his right arm, reaching out to touch it myself. He flinches and gives me a wounded look, still slurping a shake. I have to get that jacket off him to see if there's bruising. But that can wait.

I glance over at the guard pinning the gunman and see that he's handcuffed the guy. Rent-a-cops get handcuffs nowadays? Huh. Where's the gun though?

The sirens sound like they're right outside the building now. The guard holding the gunman down pulls out a crackling radio. "Gunman down and secure. Scene secure." His eyes go to Pietro. "Paramedics needed in front."

Police enter the building, the first few going to the security guard with the gunman and getting the man on his feet. Other police go to the crowd, talking to some of the bystanders and giving instructions. The gunman is led out of the building.

A couple of EMT's come in with their bags of medical supplies. A few people point in our direction. The brat's slowing down on his milkshake intake, seeming less desperate. His breathing's calmed and his tremors are less violent. The EMT's come over.

"What happened?" the male one asks as the female talks to Pietro.

"A crazy guy with a gun happened. I think the kid here stopped him," I say. "Listen, keep it down, but we're with the Avengers and his metabolism is enhanced. His pulse and respiration rates aren't gonna be normal and you've got to check him over without interrupting his feeding frenzy, okay?"

"The Avengers! Like stopped aliens from eating up New York Avengers?! Like God of Thunder Avengers?!" the male paramedic screeches, getting the attention of the crowd. "Oh yeah! You're that dude with the bow and arrows! Didn't recognize you in that flannel, man!"

Gossip swarms. I pick up bits of conversations like "...a super hero! He came out of nowhere!"

"He was like a tornado!"

"I felt him push me down when those bullets were flying at me!"

I suck in a sharp breath at that; the brat was almost target practice again. The female paramedic helps Pietro get his jacket off so she can look at his arm, and I want to push her aside and check for hidden bullet wounds. I flashback to seeing Pietro standing a few feet away from me, chest full of bloody holes, eyes going cloudy.

A gurney gets pushed over, but Pietro shakes his head. "I can walk," he rasps. He looks at me. "I don't want to go to the hospital. I'm fine." He's pale and sweaty; fine tremors still run through his body. The hand holding his milkshake shakes as he sips, eyes crinkling with pain as the paramedic probes his right shoulder. He hisses and grits his teeth as she works her way down his arm.

"You're not," I say.

"We need an X-ray of your right arm," the female paramedic says. "The shoulder feels dislocated and I think the wrist is sprained." Her eyes go to the crowd. The police keep them in place and in line, but they stare, phones out. The police will probably keep the people in the building until we leave with the ambulance.

"Come on, brat," I say. "For peace of mind, cooperate. You can sit on the gurney, you don't have to lie down, but I don't want you walking. You're..." too shaky.

He narrows his eyes at me, and for a second I think he's gonna argue, but then he smirks. "Peace of mind, Old Man? Next you'll drink warm milk."

I roll my eyes at him. "Finish your damn milkshake." I grab the last two off the tray on the floor in front of us. The McDonald's employees had cleared off once the paramedics started working.

Pietro lets the paramedics help him to his feet, and I arch an "I told you so" eyebrow when he wobbles and has to be helped to sit on the gurney. The male who'd gushed about aliens in New York raises the head of the gurney to support Pietro's back, and the woman straps Pietro's legs down.

"Clear a path!" An officer shouts. "They're moving out."

Ugh. I hate the feeling of cameras on my back. We're going to be all over everything, the news, Facebook, Twitter, Vine, and I won't just hear it from Fury, but from Laura too. Oh man, Laura. She's going to kill me when she finds out about this.

I walk beside the gurney, passing Pietro another milkshake when he tucks an empty cup between his knees. Radios crackle, engines rumble. A couple of ambulances and a parade of police cars overpopulate the parking lot. My car's out there somewhere. I could follow the ambulance and avoid having to send somebody out to come get it later, but I want to ride with the brat.

I ask to sit in back as Pietro's loaded into the ambulance. Before the doors to the meat wagon close, I see the vans of several news stations pulling up, camera-crews and news anchors jumping out and hitting the ground running. Too bad for them they missed getting actual footage of the hero and villain being escorted out of the building. Guess they'll have to watch it on YouTube like everybody else.

The ambulance begins to move, the sirens silent. The man and woman paramedic clip monitors on Pietro, starting when the heart monitor goes crazy trying to keep up with Pietro's pulse.

"I told you he's enhanced. Work around it." I sound annoyed, but the paramedics don't seem to mind. They go about getting Pietro's long-sleeved shirt off, leaving him in a sleeveless t-shirt. Damn, the kid's wiry, muscle wrapped around bone, no meat—too thin, and his right arm's black and blue, the darkest bruising around his shoulder and wrist. The shoulder looks misshapen, definite dislocation.

"What happened in there, brat? What'd you do?" I ask.

He slurps his shake between hisses of pain as his shoulder's jostled and probed. Bright eyes focus on me. "Got people out of the way of the bullets. Wasn't neat. Ended up knocking a lot of stuff over. Then I ran at the bad guy and grabbed his gun. I..." He stares at the hand holding his milkshake. "I did something with my body, my hands. I wanted the gun gone, and everything moved so fast, and—the gun just went to pieces when I held it. I think—I think that if I'd held the man, he might have gone to pieces too. I moved so fast."

"Yeah, you're a speedy guy," I say with a shrug, but freeze at the freaked out look he shares with me. "What's wrong?"

He swallows more shake. "I've never moved that fast before."

"Adrenaline." Maybe he was scared about getting shot at again. "None of those bullets touched you?" I eye him, there's no telltale blood, and the paramedics are patting him down, asking what hurts while feeling for more injuries.

Pietro frowns at me, like he wants to say something else. He reaches for the last milkshake instead and I take his empty cup.

"That's not gonna be enough, is it?" I ask. We're out of food. I should have grabbed something else. Stupid.

"It's all right," the female paramedic says. I finally look at her name badge, Erickson. She rolls up the front of Pietro's t-shirt. "I felt the PEG, we've got some bags and formula. But we're almost to General now. I'll call it in for the team there to be ready with a G-tube pump and plenty of formula. We're going to do a direct admit and bypass going to the triage rooms. Less exposure that way."

I like Erickson, she's smart, unlike the guy—I read his badge—Smithy. He's doing his job but I get the feeling he's gonna bust out a prescription pad and ask for an autograph in a minute.

"Your medical records—"

"Are confidential," I finish for Erickson. "You're not going to get them through a standard request. If he needs extensive or serious treatment, he'll be transferred to one of our facilities. I can fill out the general paperwork about basic stuff, though."

Pietro gives me a healthy glare and pauses in his milkshake consumption. "I can fill out my own paperwork."

I glance dubiously at his shaking left hand and the right arm Smithy and Erickson are splinting in place. "Sure you can, but we want people to be able to read it. I got this. And," before Erickson can probably say something about how only a legal guardian or spouse can fill out patient information, I add, "I'm his temporary power of attorney. Government says so. I can do what needs to be done."

Pietro's eyes widen, and funny, but I expected to see more embarrassment or outrage, instead he looks a little subdued, thoughtful. He'd known that I had power of attorney—or maybe he didn't. He'd been kind of out of it when I'd come to get him and Wanda out of the med ward and bring them with me.

Erickson raises a brow and looks to Pietro who gives a one-armed shrug.

"All right then, sir," Erickson says. "They'll have paperwork for you when we get there. Estimated time of arrival is five minutes."

"And uh..." Smithy begins, scratching the back of his neck as he finishes wrapping Pietro's wrist. "Before we get out and things get crazy, can I uh... maybe get your... autograph... a picture with you? Iron Man's my hero, but hey, Avengers rule, right? You think you could maybe call Iron Man? I mean, would he come visit this guy?"

I stare at Smithy, wishing I had my bow, a gun, a taser, a rubber chicken, anything—and glad I don't.

***

The private room is small with a single bed, a couple of chairs, a sink, and a TV mounted to the wall in front of the bed. There's no sign on the door, but I bet squeezing four people plus the patient into this room is a fire hazard. The general hospital is about 45 miles from home, but it didn't seem to take Laura and Wanda very long to get here, and they'd dragged Bruce along. Nat got left behind to go pick up Coop and Lila from school and get them situated with homework and afternoon snacks. It's cute how she can go all domestic around the kids. She likes it too—so much so that it pisses me off and makes me melancholy at the same time. She could've had this for herself.

Pietro's half asleep, lids drooping as he reclines, propped up on pillows as Wanda berates him about being an idiot. The gentle hum of the G-tube pump sending a nutrient shake through Pietro's PEG gives Wanda's rant a good beat.

"You should have found Clint and stayed with him!" Wanda shouts. "What if you'd gotten...?" She trails off. "I was too far away to help you!"

I don't know if Pietro's really listening; his head lists every now and again and his lashes flutter. Laura places her hands on Wanda's shoulders and whispers in her ear.

Wanda lets out a huge huff, glaring at her brother, and then turns her glare on me. Whoa. I hold up both hands in defense. "Hey, he was too fast for me. I was moving into action. He beat me to it."

Now Laura's glaring at me too. "Clint, you weren't armed."

"Laura, you know I can do a lot of damage without weapons," I say. I'm no Captain America, but I can fight with my hands, and I know more than a few tricks, all of them dirty. "Look, there was no way to predict anything out of the ordinary was going to happen. So, when it did, it was a shock and happened fast." I'm not gonna pretend I'm not mad at the kid for throwing himself in harm's way again, but "Pietro did good. Seems like a lot of people might have gotten hurt had he not been there and acted as quickly as he did."

"And I'm not shot," Pietro murmurs, sounding punch drunk. Oh, that's right, the doctor had given him some painkillers and had to triple the dose because of the rapid rate Pietro burns off drugs. "Just..."

"Tired," Wanda finishes for him. "You're always tired,  _dragă_. And your arm!"

"Doesn't hurt anymore," Pietro slurs.

"Because you're drugged up," I say. The verdict is a dislocated shoulder, popped back into joint by a guy built like a linebacker, and a severely sprained wrist. The whole arm will be in a sling, the wrist in a splint, for a few days until it heals.

Bruce is silent, busying himself with reading the charts at the foot of Pietro's bed. He's got the iPad that was in Pietro's black duffle too, the one with the SHIELD medical notes on it. He does his standard Bruce Banner "I'm off in my own little" world hum.

"What is it, Bruce?" I ask. The man's got something to say, he just never knows it until someone points it out.

"Huh?" Bruce looks up, and blinks like he forgot we were all here. "Oh—yeah. I was just..." He frowns at Pietro. "You're faster than you were when these last stats in SHIELD were recorded. You've noticed it, right?"

Now it's my turn to frown, remembering what Pietro said in the ambulance about never having moved that fast before.

Pietro yawns. "The world moves a lot slower if I don't concentrate."  
Bruce hums and nods to himself as me, Laura, and Wanda stare at him.

"What does that mean?" Laura asks. "Is he all right?"

Bruce sets down the paper charts and removes his glasses with his free hand, his brown eyes earnest-seeming. "It means his powers have been, well, enhanced. We don't have medical records of how he was before Sokovia, but I'm willing to bet when he—uh—received his jump-start back in Sokovia..." Bruce's eyes go to Wanda briefly, then focus on our group as a whole "...it kicked his metabolism up another notch. As a result, he can probably move faster than before, because his body processes input more quickly. The downside is—well..."

He looks at Pietro, like he's assessing him. "I think it's still accelerating. You're having a hard time keeping up with it all. It'd be different if you'd gotten the boost while you were healthy. Then it'd just be a matter of eating and sleeping more, but you had to recover from fatal injuries. It sapped up more strength and resources than you had—and you were probably running lower than usual after all the action you saw that day—so you're playing catch up. Your body's struggling. That's why you're always tired, can't gain weight, and keep getting sick. If you think of it in terms of money, it's like you've spent all your cash and you're charging everything on a credit card that you can only make minimum payments on. You've got a huge debt hanging over your head and while you're not bankrupt, your credit's terrible."

"How do we help him?" Laura asks, fear in her voice. She reaches out to stroke Pietro's hair.

Bruce sighs. "By keeping him fed, hydrated, well-rested, and hoping that his metabolism settles, so he can catch up to it. Or hoping it slows down entirely."

I crack my knuckles, wondering why the brat's not complaining about us talking about him like he's not here. I glance down to see that his eyes have finally closed, soft snores rumble in his chest.

"If it doesn't settle down, if it keeps increasing?" Laura asks, face pinched around the mouth—the worried mom face.

Bruce clears his throat. "How about we wait and see what happens for a little while longer, before we talk about that."

Because that doesn't sound ominous—

"He dies," Wanda says flatly. "The doctors at SHIELD thought that a lot—that he would die. But it won't come to that, not if we keep him fed and rested like you said." She gives me a pointed look.

"How was I supposed to know going to Walmart would turn into a shoot-out?"

Laura smacks me over the head. I just can't win. I run a hand through my hair and change the subject. I already said it: no kids are dying on my watch. The brat'll get better if I have to hand-feed him myself. "So, the doctor wants to keep him overnight for observation, but I think we can take him home. What do you think, Bruce?"

Bruce looks at me, and I don't know how to interpret his expression. He looks hopeful, nervous and scholarly at the same time. "I think it'd be okay. We've got what we need to monitor his vitals at your house, though I don't think his vitals really need to be monitored. Like Wanda said, we just need to keep him full and quiet."

Laura smiles at Bruce, her eyes twinkling. Okay. Since when is Bruce her favorite guy?

"All right," I say slowly. "Let's let him sleep for a little while, then I'll sign him out and we'll go home. Oh—just had a terrible thought."

"What?" Laura asks.

"Does Nat think she needs to cook dinner?" Horror stories of Nat's cooking projects come to light: raw chicken, charcoal pasta, rock hard bread and dirty veggies.

"I'll call her and tell her we'll pick something up." Laura seems to be thinking the same thing I am. She rubs her belly, probably thinking of saving Nate from poisoning.

Bruce snorts back a laugh and Wanda looks amused for a second, before she climbs onto the bed next to Pietro. She rests her head on his good shoulder; then looks at me with soulful eyes. "I didn't even know he was in danger. He was out of my range."

"Hey," I start. "That's gonna hap—"

"I know," she cuts me off, eyes sliding over to Laura. "Doesn't mean I like it. I hate it. But," she sighs, "he doesn't."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"His feelings—when he recalls what happened," Wanda says, "he's proud. He liked helping those people. He liked them calling him a hero. He didn't care before, but he does now."

"Well good," I say, even though I'm very sure it's not what she wants to hear from me. "Avengers should like helping people." Not everybody's got a hero's calling, but like the cliché goes, with  _great power comes great responsibility_. The brat's got power and signed up to use it, it won't suck for him to actually like the job too.

Wanda sighs, and I reach over to pat her head, wanting to tell her it'll be okay. It's what she wants to hear, I know, but we'd both know it wouldn't be true. No one can ever guarantee a 'hero' will be okay in the long run.

My cell vibrates in my back pocket and I fish it out. I glance at the face and groan, caller unavailable. My phone's rigged to block out all calls that don't come from my Circle of Friends—meaning Fury hacked my Circle. Wanda, Laura and Bruce watch me as I answer the phone with a "You heard?"

"Don't think I would have if someone wouldn't have let it get out that super heroes were on the scene." Fury's gruff voice sounds amused. Good.

"Is this a social call? The kid's doing okay, if you want to know," I say, though I'm sure he knew already. "We're at the hospital now, but we're going home in a bit."

"Home? You want to keep the twins?" Fury asks. There's no surprise in his voice.

"Yeah. We're good. Got some other company too."

"Mm... Nat and Banner. I know. It's good that you all stick together like that."

Big Man's approval. I'd pat myself on the back if I was the type to do stuff like that. "So... uh... not to be rude, but—"

A deep-throated laugh. "Yeah, yeah, get to the point. Well, the point is, the Maximoff boy made quite the impression on a few folks. Got news crews calling around and someone even had enough connections to get to Stark's people who got to Potts' people who got to Stark himself and he got to me. People want interviews, pictures—they want to make him into some teeny bop heartthrob for high school girls."

I laugh too. "What?"

"Oh yeah, Stark's having a field day, but he might not have called me if it wasn't for this one, though."

"What's that?" I stop laughing, ignoring the eyes on me, and press the phone closer to my ear.

"Somebody in that Walmart crowd got some good pictures of those McDonald's employees in their uniforms bringing out those milkshakes and even better ones of the Maximoff boy sucking 'em down. Now everybody wants a milkshake from McDonald's, and McDonald's wants to sign the kid to an endorsement deal. A lifetime supply of Mickey D's, in exchange for posing for a picture every time he gets something."

"You're bullshitting."

"I'm gonna forward the message, since you're the boy's power of attorney and all," Fury says with a dry chuckle.

I shake my head. "Oh man."

The chuckling fades. "You're really okay, Clint? All of you? Banner, Nat, the twins?"

"Yeah, I think we are," I say, touched really. The guy might be a bear, but he keeps showing us that he cares.

"All right then. Stay out of the news," he says. "You'll hear from me when it's time."

"Okay, and hey, you're always welcome to drop in if you feel like it." I'm such a boot-licker. Who invites the boss to dinner because they actually want them to come? Me. But I'm not doing it for a raise. " _You're_  okay?" I care too.

"I'm good, Clint. You'll hear from me."

The call ends.

"Who was that?" Laura asks. Everyone, sans Pietro who's still snoring, stares at me.

"Boss," I say, tucking my phone back into my pocket.

'What's he want?" Bruce asks. "Do we—is he calling us back?"

I raise a brow at him. "Us? You're with the team again, Bruce?"

He flushes and looks away. Laura narrows her eyes at me, and I sigh.

"Sorry," I say. "And no, he was just making sure things were okay. And letting us know we may be living with the next teen idol."

"Huh?" from Laura and Bruce.

"What is a teen idol?" Wanda asks.

A laugh builds in my chest, and I can't fight it. I laugh. "Your brother! McDonald's called; they're offering him a lifetime supply of French fries and milkshakes if he agrees to be their poster boy."

Laura and Bruce blink. Wanda tilts her head to one side, mouth twisting in disgust. "McDonald's!"

"Clint, what?" Laura asks, recovering. "Nick called to tell you that?"

I shrug.

"Mc Donald's." Wanda pokes Pietro who snuffles and scratches his nose but doesn't wake. "I hate McDonald's. All fast food in Sokovia was McDonald's."

"Have you had your break today?" I can't resist. I laugh again and Laura joins me. Bruce looks undecided.

"What is it, Bruce?" I ask.

"Think he'll share? I love quarter pounders."

Wanda smacks herself in the forehead as Laura and I laugh some more, and Bruce turns out the first honest grin I've seen from him in a very long time.

If I had known going to Super Walmart would be so exciting, I might have stayed home, but hell Murphy has ways of making shit happen. Not all of it ends up too bad, though. I move closer to Bruce, taking a chair and gesture for him to sit too.

"So uh..." I begin, hesitantly, "you and Nat, huh?"

He blinks at me, then smiles softly. "Me and Nat."

I nod and he nods back. 


	11. Family Tree

_Wanda Maximoff_

 

He's bored.

I have to keep reminding myself of this or I'll strangle him.

He's not in the house. He's not on the porch. I reach for him with my mind and sense him in range, but farther away than I'd like.

/Where are you?/

_Watching Clint shoot._

/Behind the barn?/

_You could say that._

I narrow my eyes. /He'd send you inside if he could see you, meaning you're not in sight. Are you in that tree again?/

_Maybe._

I'm going to hurt him. The lowest branches of that stupid tree are at least 10 feet off the ground and those aren't the ones he likes to perch on.

"Good morning, Wanda," Laura calls as I walk through the kitchen. I pause and turn around to see her at the kitchen table with a newspaper spread out in front of her. She sips from a large coffee mug that says: Got Coffee?

"Tea?" I point at the mug. Laura limits herself to one cup of coffee a day, and she usually has it at breakfast. It's well past 10, and Laura and Clint both like to get up early to have family breakfasts with Cooper and Lila.

She nods and tilts her head with a smile. "Your brother was up early. He got fresh French toast. I saved you some leftovers."

I scowl, thinking about Pietro. He sleeps later than me on most days, not rising until nearly noon. He only gets up early when he wants to be sneaky. "Thank you," I say to Laura. Leftovers are hard to come by with my brother around. "Have you seen him since?"

"He went out to find Clint a little while ago." She smiles as I continue to scowl. "He's bundled up and armed with a thermos of hot chocolate. And he promised to come in after an hour."

I groan, feeling betrayed. I sit down at the table next to Laura. "He's in that tree again."

"His arm is better and out of the sling, he's a good climber," Laura says, "and that tree's old and sturdy with wide branches. Easy to climb, easy to relax in."

I open my mouth, but she cuts me off, "And contrary to what we let the children believe, from where he is, Clint  _can_  see what's in the tree, especially when it's barren like that. So, he's keeping an eye on Pietro."

I blink at her, embarrassment creeping into cheeks. I feel them burn at how easily Laura read me and corrected my assumptions. Do I really act like this so often that she knows just what to cut me off with? "I..."

"You're worried," Laura says with a warm laugh. She brushes my hair behind my ears. "It's okay, but honey, your brother's climbing the walls. We have to give a little and let him have some freedom. Bruce says that he's doing okay energy-wise; he doesn't take half as many naps. His appetite's better, and he's not losing weight anymore. I just wish we could get rid of that cold of his."

I almost make a comment about how being outside can't be helping anything, but swallow it. Laura thinks it's okay.

She raises a brow, and once again reads me. "He's got on a cap, a scarf, mittens, earmuffs, and a down jacket over a sweatshirt and long johns. Trust me, he's not cold. If anything he's going to be ready to come back in and strip down soon."

I snort, imaging what Pietro's face must have been like when he'd been presented with his out-gear. "You made a deal with him?" I ask, amused.

"Mmm," Laura hums. "It was suit up in that or watch from the window."

"How long has he been outside?" I ask. I won't go after him, if he's due to come in soon.

"About 30 minutes," Laura says.

Thirty minutes. I sigh and go to the counter where a covered plate sits. I lift the paper towel and smile at two neat slices of French toast. I take them both, wrapping them in the paper towel and placing the plate in the sink. "I'll be back in later to wash it."

"Don't worry about it," Laura says, sounding preoccupied. I glance over to see that she's gone back to reading the paper. I wonder if there's anything else about the Walmart shooter in it. Clint and Laura are unlisted, so no one followed us home last week and there have been no crazy calls, but it shakes me up every time I see that horrible man's face on TV or a news article makes mention of him. And Clint is driving me crazy with all his talk about free Big Macs—disgusting.

I leave the kitchen and head back to the room Pietro and I share. I trade sweatpants for jeans and slippers for boots, and then borrow one of Laura's winter coats from the hall closet. I open the front door as I bite into a moist piece of room-temperature French toast. Cold air slaps my face, my skin tingles where it's exposed to the wind.

I hate being cold. Winters in Sokovia are terrible for war orphans. Pietro and I never had to sleep outdoors, but buildings with cement floors and no heating weren't much better. Pietro's tree comes into view. It's a huge sycamore with a massive trunk. I finish my breakfast, dusting crumbs off my hands by rubbing my palms together, and come to the base of the tree, peering up. I see the rubber sole of one of Pietro's boots; it swings back and forth. Rolling my eyes, I begin climbing the tree.

When I'm halfway up, Pietro pulls his leg up and his head appears over the branch. He looks down at me. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

His head disappears and his foot comes back down. I make it to his level and push myself up onto a branch adjacent from his. His back is against the trunk, the branch he sits on is wider and thicker than the bulk of his body. One of Cooper's old backpacks decorated with Minions sits on a higher branch next to his head. I straddle my branch, which is wider and thicker than me as well. A family could live up here; there are so many branches and all of them are huge and strong.

He watches me settle in as he sips from a large metal thermos—that must be the hot chocolate Laura mentioned. I giggle at him; he really is all wrapped up. It's cute. I want pictures, but I didn't bring my phone. "What's in the backpack?" I ask.

Pietro shrugs. "Book, magazine, Cooper's DS, iPad, chips, cookies, box of Pop-tarts, phone, Rubik's cube, binoculars."

I stare at him and shake my head. Damn his hyperactivity. "Only my brother would climb a tree with a bag full of toys and snacks. Whose iPad did you borrow?"

"No one's. It's mine." He looks offended. "It was in one of those gift bags Stark put in the closet, remember?"

"There was an iPad? You didn't let me see it!"

"Well, you'd already claimed the notebook. Why should you get an iPad too?"

"Because Stark had already given you that stupid video game!"

"That one doesn't count," Pietro says firmly. He gives me a superior glance. "Little Sister, it's about time you learn to share."

I glower at him and blow a raspberry. Stupid brother. I peer out across the field. I love the view from here. Clint's in his practice area near the barn notching an arrow for a low long. I swear he meets my gaze before he fires. I wave and after a moment he waves back.

"Aren't you supposed to be watching Clint?" I ask Pietro. "What do you need all of that junk for?

"I  _am_ watching Clint," he says. "But I can do other things too. It takes him forever to go through his exercises. Sometimes, he does the same things over and over."

"That's called practice,  _dragă_."

"Whatever it is, it's boring. So, I watch a little Grey's Anatomy, then I play Minecraft, then I watch the horses through the binoculars and work on the cube. I already finished the magazine and book." He wears a frown of concentration as he tucks the thermos in the backpack and pulls out the iPad and cookies. "It's a good rotation."

"An hour, Pietro, you can't sit out here for an hour and not do more than one thing?" It's amazing really. My head spins with all of the things he can do at once.

"You're jealous of my ability to multitask," Pietro says; the theme song to Grey's Anatomy plays on the iPad. I shake my head at how addicted he's become to that show. I watched a few episodes and let it go, but Pietro's entranced.

"That's not multitasking, that's insanity," I remark.

He shrugs, crunching on chocolate chip cookies.

I sigh and snuggle into Laura's warm winter coat; it smells of cinnamon and floral perfume. I pull the fur-lined hood up over my head and button the jacket up over my throat. I find mittens in the pockets and slide those on over my hands. Comfortable warmth spreads through my body. This could almost be nice—but the cold air burns my lungs as I breathe it in, my nose runs slightly. "You're really not cold, dragă?"

He makes a show of pulling the neck scarf over his mouth and nose.

I stick my tongue out at him and go back to watching Clint's routine. He's got a few bows sitting on a wooden rack near him. They all vary in size and thickness. He's fantastic, never misses a shot, even when he stands in odd positions and angles. But I still wonder what makes him choose to fight with bows and arrows of all things. He fights opponents who have guns and lasers and crazy alien weaponry. He even made a joke about how ridiculous his weapon was. So, why not change it? I've seen him use guns.

I'll have to ask him one day.

"Are you going to sit there until Clint comes to tell me to go back inside?" Pietro asks.

"I don't know," I say. "Maybe." I bite my lip, suddenly feeling like an intruder which really hurts. "Would you mind if I did?"

"I don't care," he says. "I just... don't want you here if you're going to be a watch dog. I made a deal with Laura and I'm keeping my word."

He sounds defensive. "Pietro, I'm not here to nag you." Though that was why I'd initially come out. But now, I don't know. "We don't just hang out together anymore, not for long. I miss you."

The sound of Grey's Anatomy cuts off and I glance over to see him putting the iPad away and pulling out the DS. "I miss you too," he says, "when you're not pretending to be my mother."

"Pi—"

"But you've always played that role, you know," he says, starting up a game. "Caretaker, just like I'm overprotective of you. I just never noticed how annoying it is until we got to a place where you don't have to take care of me, but you still are."

Hurt flashes through me. "Excuse me for caring."

He huffs. "It's not like that."

"Well, I don't know what it's like because you won't tell me about it," I grumble. I agreed not to push. I agreed to let him come to me, but he's aggravating and I'm worried.

He mutters under his breath then puts away the DS, glaring at me. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know!"

"Thank you," he says shortly.

"For what?"

"For saving my life in Sokovia. I didn't want to die." His voice is flat. "Do you feel better?"

The world spirals beneath me. I clutch the branch to keep from falling off. His bitterness is sharp in my mind. "God, Pietro. You wanted to die?"

"No," he says. "So stop feeling guilty over it. I know you do."

"But what's wrong? You're angry about something and it has everything to do with—"

"It felt wrong," Pietro sighs. "I feel wrong, but it's getting better. That's all."

"Felt wrong how?" I want him closer to me. I wish he'd ask if we could climb down to talk. I look at him and his eyes are closed, I feel him shutting himself off from me. "No! Tell me, please. You can't keep doing this to me."

"Because it's always about you," he says.

"I know it's not," I say.

"But somehow you always get exactly what you want," he murmurs, sounding so tired.

"I just want—"

"I know what you want, and I'm trying to give it to you. You just won't accept it. I'm fine--I will be fine. Thank you for helping me. Leave it at that. Let's sit here and not talk and just enjoy being together."

"Pietro," I moan. "It doesn't work that way. You're hurting and I need to know why. I want to make it better for you."

"You can't," he says softly. "I was dead. It was cold but it was peaceful, and then it wasn't. Suddenly, everything in my body was screaming at me, my chest hurt, breathing was like sucking in acid, and when I could see, there were strangers everywhere. The world was too slow. I couldn't understand anything except that I hurt. And over everything there was this sense, this feeling, that none of it was supposed to be happening. I wasn't supposed to be here."

Tears fill my eyes.

His voice is low, haunted. "Then I went to sleep and when I woke up you were there, but I couldn't understand you. You spoke so slowly. I couldn't understand anyone. I felt like I was falling into a black hole; time was going to keep slowing down until it stopped and I'd be the only one left moving at regular speed, all alone. Maybe I was dying again, going back to the peace and cold."

"But time dragged on and on, and I realized it wasn't coming to an end, not the pain or the hunger or the thirst or boredom. But I was getting better at understanding and interacting. If I concentrated, sometimes people only spoke with a slight slur."

He looks at me. "It got better. Bruce says I'm adapting." The shadows in his eyes are too dark to ignore. "But it scares me."

"What does, dragă?" My voice is ragged.

"That my powers might not stop. That I'll get stuck in a world that doesn't move or they'll eat me up," he says. "That's what I dream about now, not Mama and Papa. And sometimes, I think that maybe it's punishment, because I'm not supposed to be alive. And when I think that..." he holds my gaze "I block myself from you, because I don't want you to feel that. It's not your fault,  _soră_. You saved me. I would have saved you if our situation were reversed. But I knew you'd blame yourself. Are you happy now?"

I wipe my face, fluff from the mittens stinging my eyes. "Happy that we're both dumb? You try to protect me while I try to nurture you and we end up hurting each other."

Pietro sneezes and blows his nose into a handful of Kleenex he pulls out of the backpack. "I need to process things, Wanda, and I can't do it with you butting in. There's so much inside my head right now, my thoughts race." He sounds nasally. He blows his nose again.

I think of Clint telling me that had we still been at SHIELD headquarters Pietro would be in counseling. But why talk to a doctor when he can talk to me? My heart shudders, because I know the answer. He doesn't want to accidentally hurt me. But if he doesn't, then that means things that he wants and needs to say won't ever be shared with me. He'll have secrets from me, things that he'll tell other people.

"I feel like I'm going crazy," Pietro says to the wind. "I want to spare you and everyone else that."

"Don't spare everyone else," I choke out. "They're here to help. If you can't talk to me, you have to talk to others. You can't keep your feelings in like that."

"I don't know how to talk to anyone but you, and I don't even want to talk to you." His hands shake and he swallows. "Now do you see why I pull away? Can't you leave me be?"

"But you can't be alone," I remind him. "You can't stand it."

He lowers his head and gives a dark chuckle. "It's not so bad. I've been trying it out."

I stare at him. "When?"

He shrugs. "You've been spending a lot of time with Laura, Clint or the kids. I do my own thing."

I'd always assumed when I was with Laura, Pietro was with Clint and vice versa, or he was playing with the kids. He loves Cooper and Lila. Bruce and Nastasha don't really seek any of us out for company, but I'd really thought Pietro was hanging around someone else.

"I don't want you to drift away from me,  _dragâ_. What I did put a wall between us."

"There would have been a lot more than a wall, if you hadn't done it," Pietro says gently. He gazes down at me. "I really mean it, thank you."

Heavy silence falls, thick as the wall I'd built by saving him, broken only by heavy sniffles and muffled coughing on his part. It's my turn to close my eyes, listening to the soft wind, the thump of Clint hitting targets below, and inhaling cinnamon and floral perfume along with the clean, brisk scent of snow about to fall. After what feels like an eternity, he speaks again.

"You're still my best friend."

My eyes snap open and I glance over to find him grinning at me.

"You still know me better than anybody else. And I'll always give you too much information about things you think are gross. I'll always eat your leftovers,  _especially_  when you write your name on them, and I can't wait to drag you to McDonald's so you can see me pose for pictures with my free food."

Dumbfounded, I gape at him before amused annoyance takes over. Snorting, I give him a mock-glare. "Careful,  _dragă_. I can knock you off that branch without touching you."

"Laura won't like that kind of talk," Pietro says. "Clint's already been punished for not getting me a juice box when I asked for it. Wonder what the punishment will be for threatening to push me out of a tree."

Oh God, I still feel awful inside, but the need to laugh at my stupid brother is starting to balance out those feelings. "You're really milking this."

"You would too," Pietro says with another evil grin. He gets out a family-size bag of Ranch Doritos.

I raise a brow."I thought you were tired of people trying to take care of you."

"No," he smacks between words, "I'm tired of you doing it. Laura and Clint are different, they're..." He looks thoughtful as he sucks crumbs off his fingers. "Well, they're not old enough to actually be our parents, but—do you remember when you asked me about this before? And I said I feel like we should be paying them for being so nice to us?"

I nod; the awfulness in the pit of my stomach almost gone. He's talking to me, not about that black hole inside of him, but it's still about something that matters—something that hurts. He hadn't been lying to make me feel better; maybe I'm still his best friend.

"I don't feel like that anymore, like we owe them. It—it just feels normal now. I don't want to take anything for granted but I kind of expect Laura to make sure I'm eating healthy food along with my junk. And I fully expect Clint to make his way over in five minutes to tell me to go back in the house."

He finishes his chips. "It's weird how we've only been here for about two weeks, and have only really known Clint for a little more than a month, and I'm ready to move in. I—he has paperwork that makes him my medical proxy. He can make decisions and sign documents even if I'm conscious. I know Fury gave it to him just so he could bring me here, but he could sign an agreement to have me castrated or something and it'd be legal. And I don't care. I trust him, and I'd rather him have it than anybody else."

"Even me?" I ask, surprised.

"I don't want you to have to take the responsibility," Pietro says. "It's a relief, one less thing for you to worry about. And Clint is good at what he does. He's an expert with Cooper and Lila, and if he doesn't know something or isn't good at it, he gets Laura. She's good at everything."

Can't argue that.

"Makes me feel like a kid," Pietro says. "It's really nice." He offers me a smile and a cookie.

I take the Oreo and twist it open, licking the icing. "It is nice." I protested a lot when Clint and other people referred to Pietro and me as children or kids. It used to make me angry, because I'd been functioning as an adult for so long before then, but Pietro's right. All of the things that used to grate on my nerves don't bother me at all now. I like when Laura strokes my hair, or when Clint gets nervous every time the topic of men is brought up by Laura or Natasha around me. I like having an extra blanket draped over my bed sometime in the night while I'm asleep. I love waking up to breakfast and knowing a hot dinner will be on the table with plenty for me.

"Next time we come to visit," I say slowly, "we'll have our own rooms."

Pietro laughs. "How about that, huh? We go from having no family and no real place to belong, to not only having an immediate family but an extended family too. We've got two places to live, jobs, and a guilty rich guy who showers us with gifts."

"Not too shabby, hm?" I chuckle. "I didn't even have to use mind magic."

"It's all charm," Pietro says with a nod.

"Certainly not yours," I scoff. "Everyone around here calls you 'brat'."

"Only Clint calls me that," he says, eating two Oreos at once.

"Only Clint calls you that to your face," I say, eating the lower half of my Oreo.

"It's a term of endearment," Pietro says, sounding self-assured. He stuffs his mouth with another Oreo and grunts. "This is my second bag of Oreos, that was my third bag of Doritos, and I ate a whole loaf of French toast, but you know what?"

"Still hungry?"

"I'm tired of eating." Then contradicts himself by shoving another Oreo in his mouth. "When we get down, can you set up my tube?"

I give him a calculating look. "But you don't want me to take care of you, I can't do that."

He stares at me: chocolate cookie crumbs around his lips, eyes large, hair a curly mop on his head. The little boy face undoes me every time.

"Oh God, fine. But, you know, we're going to have to establish lines, brother. You'll have to tell me how much is too much," I say matter-of-factly. I smile like I'm joking, but I'm serious. I want him to know I listened to him, and I'm going to do what he wants for a change.

A corner of his mouth turns up and his eyes light up. "Okay."

The awful pit evaporates and I feel freer than I have in a long time. The sound of Grey's Anatomy playing again makes me roll my eyes. Pietro sits with one knee drawn up to his chest, staring at the iPad screen and munching his cookies.

Only my brother.

I relax again, leaning my back against the rough truck and shutting my eyes only to be interrupted minutes later by Clint knocking on the base of the tree and calling up, "Time to get down. I'll make you an omelet."

I smile as Pietro packs away his toys and snack-ends, straps the backpack on and climbs down the tree. He crosses his eyes at me as he passes.

Once Pietro's down on the ground, Clint takes the backpack and peers inside. "Seriously?"

"Next time I'll bring more," Pietro retorts. "I got bored. You really need to liven up that routine, Old Man. I would have fallen asleep, but the creaking of your bones kept me awake—ow!"

Clint smirks. "Prove I did that. There's no bruise to show for it."

"I don't need a bruise!" Pietro takes off toward the house, running at a normal person's pace, but I wonder how much energy it costs him. Worry stirs in my gut, but I force it down as Clint barks after him, "Hey! Slow the hell down!"

Pietro slows to a walk, looks over his shoulder at Clint and does something that makes Clint curse under his breath. "Damn brat."

Clint knocks on the base of the tree again, looking up at me. "You coming?"

I think about it. The air still hurts to breathe in, but I don't know. It feels good right here. As it turns out, I like spending time alone too. "No. I'll come in a little later"—if Pietro still wants his tube feeding.

"Don't stay out too long," Clint says.

"No, Father." I grin.

He scowls at me. "That brother of yours is a bad influence."

My grin softens. "And we thank you for putting up with us."

Clint scratches the back of his neck and shrugs. "See you inside."

I close my eyes and let the peace and accomplishments of the day settle over me.

 


	12. Call of Duty

_Clint Barton_

 

The call comes on a Thursday afternoon as I brush honey butter on my special homemade croissants. After a week and a half, Bruce still looks flabbergasted every time he comes in the kitchen and finds me tending the oven. He can't get over my awesome culinary skills. Laura says she married me for my sweet potato pie and baby back ribs, so she'll leave me if I don't make them every six to eight weeks. She marks it on calendars around the house and leaves me "evil eye" notes if she thinks I've lost track of the time. When I go on long missions that keep me away for longer than that—and thank God those don't happen as often as they did when we were younger—I hit the ground running, no nap, no hug and kiss, it's straight to the kitchen. Even the kids know.

My cell phone rings and vibrates on the kitchen table. My hands are slathered in flour. Nat wanders in dressed in jeans and a sweater. She glances at me and nods to my phone, I nod back and she answers it. "Barton's phone."

Her face shifts from polite disinterest to attention. "Yes sir."

Dammit.

Nat listens, humming occasionally and I go back to my croissants. If we have to ship out in the next hour, I'm making sure my babies are ready to be popped in the oven.

"Sir?" The question in Nat's voice makes me pause. "Yes sir."

After a few more affirmative replies, Nat disconnects and sets my phone back down on the table. "Fury needs us to do a recon mission in Belize, possible infiltration. It'll take three weeks tops, he thinks."

"Okay." There's gotta be more to that.

"We need to ship out around 10 tonight."

"Okay."

"He wants the twins back at base by next week. Girl Twin needs to start training. Her grace period's up," Nat says. "And Boy Twin needs a full medical and psych evaluation."

My heart sinks. I'd hoped the twins could stay for a while. I sigh, imagining the heartbroken looks on Coop and Lila's faces. They've gotten used to me and Nat coming and going, but it doesn't stop them from being sad about it. Now they have to say goodbye to their new friends too. But not for a week. I'll be damned if the twins ship out tonight just because I am.

Nat watches me, a knowing look crossing her face. "It's good for them to be here. I wish they could stay longer too."

I give her a wry smile. "Go ahead and say what you really want to."

She laughs. "No, I do mean it about them, but yeah—okay, here's what I really want to say. It's good for Bruce to be here too. Would you be okay if he stayed here with Laura and the kids? Laura's a month away from popping out that baby, and who really knows when we'll be back. It might be best for Bruce to stay."

Fear seizes me hard for a sec. A man with a rage beast inside of him alone in a rural, uncharted location with my pregnant wife and kids. It's okay when I'm here. Nothing touches my family when I'm around, but when I'm not? I catch the hurt expression on Nat's face and groan. "Look, Nat, I like the guy, I really do, but..."

"Yeah, I get it," Nat says, looking resigned. "I just... don't know where else he'll go. I don't think he wants to go back to SHIELD."

"You haven't asked?"

She shakes her head. "I'm worried he'll clam up or bolt. This last week's been really good for him and me. I don't want to mess it up."

"Maybe you guys need to talk about getting an apartment or a house. A house might be good," I say and try to control my voice. My throat wanted to close up when I'd said 'house'. A friggin' house, Nat and Bruce.

Nat studies me long and hard. "A house?"

I try to sound nonchalant but I clench the brush in my hand and nearly dribble honey butter on the counter. "Yeah. Maybe in a rural place like this one, far away from other people. Peace and quiet oughta keep Bruce calm and even if something does set him off, well, civilization will be far, far away."

She seems thoughtful. "I'll run it by him. But, a house, huh? That's a big step. He might want a house, but not with me in it."

I snort. "The guy's crazy about you. He'll want you in it."

"You think so?"

I finish buttering the croissants and make my way to the pre-heated oven. "Yeah." And if he doesn't and hurts her feelings, I'll punch him in the face and take on the Hulk.

"All right. So, a house, in the woods," Nat drawls. "One problem though."

"Yeah?" I shut the oven and set the timer for 20 minutes.

"Are you gonna fly in with food for us, 'cause neither one of us can cook worth a shit?"

I laugh. "Got that right, but I'm not bringing your asses anything. You're the ones moving out to the woods. Take some cooking classes."

"Don't wanna."

"Make friends with the brat and have him run you over some McDonald's when he's all better. He's gonna sign that contract on the dotted line once he gets back to the city."

Nat snorts. "I've seen that kid eat. Nothing he tries to bring us will make it to our door. Guess we'll just have to starve then."

"That's pathetic."

"I like that kind of pathetic, though. Me and Bruce, making it work." She rubs her chin and smirks at me. "Will you be the best man at our wedding?"

I almost swallow my gum. "What?"

She laughs. "Well, I'm not shacking up. If I'm getting a house, I'm getting married, like you and Laura. Maybe we'll adopt a kid or something."

I open the fridge to look in on the roast I've been marinating for a day, but stop to gaze back at her. "A kid?" Nat can't physically have her own kids, and she loves mine, but... Well, she never really expressed any desires to have any. "You want to adopt a baby?"

Nat perches on the table. "Or a bigger kid. A lot more of them need homes than little ones. But then again, it might not be as easy to train a big kid to get used to our way of life. A mom whose gone half the time, a dad that can't be upset."

I chuckle. "It's a lot to think about, Nat."

She tilts her head toward the ceiling then gives me a sideways glance. "I know, give us a twin. They're already trained and don't need homework help."

"You couldn't feed them," I say.

"Give us the girl," Nat counters.

"You're gonna have to take this up with Laura. She gets all mad at me when I try to raffle off the children."

Nat laughs, then after a beat says. "Laura's not gonna give me one of her twins."

I shake my head. "No, she's not. Once she gave them pet names, they were hers for good."

"I gave them pet names."

"Girl Twin, Boy Twin?"

Nat strikes a proud pose and I chuck an oven mitt at her.

"Lame."

She catches the mitt and pegs it back at me. Only Nat can make a cloth mitt hurt. I rub my arm where it hit and put the oven mitt back on the counter.

"You think it's a good idea?" Nat asks, all humor gone from her voice. "Me and Bruce, living together, maybe getting married one day—bringing kids into our life? You did it, but you and me are different. I mean, look at you." She gestures at me, eyes zeroing in on my flannel shirt and well-worn jeans. "You're good at mixing the normal stuff with the weird and your family is still good as anything we see on TV. That's not me, Clint."

"Who says you have to be like a TV family? Bruce certainly isn't a TV dad. If you really like him, you'll figure it out," I say. "Play it by ear."

"Oh you're just full of good suggestions and advice. Bet you give Girl Twin lots of great stuff to work with."

I shrug. Not to brag or anything, but Wanda always seems happy with my words of wisdom.

"Smug bastard," she mutters.

"Sure am." I run water in the sink, rinsing dishes. "You'll do fine, Nat. When you really want to do something, you do it and make everybody else fall in line. And if things go sour, hey, I'm here. Don't forget that."

"I'll never forget."

"Good."

I hear the fridge door open and stuff rustling around inside. "Hey Clint? If you're not about to cook the roast, why are you making some of the rolls now?"

I sigh. "They're snacks for Laura and Pietro."

Nat snorts with laughter. "Do I get a snack?"

"You have to take that up with Laura too." I perch on the table next to her. "I'm not ready to go back to work."

She bumps my knee with hers. "If I had all this, I'd never go back to work. When are you

gonna retire, man? Your debt's way past paid."

"I don't know," I admit. "Not while the team's reforming. Not while the twins are still green."

"There's always going to be reason for you not to quit, huh?"

"Maybe." Laughter from the living room—Lila and Cooper are playing board games with Wanda and Pietro. "Maybe not."

"Don't die before you quit, Old Man." Nat rests her head on my shoulder. "Maybe that kid saving you was a wake-up call."

"I've thought about that," I say. "Ran the scenario over and over. What if I wasn't supposed to be there? What if I hadn't been there?" I shake my head. "The scene doesn't work without me."

"Smug bastard."

"Sure am."

We sit until the oven timer beeps, and I place the warm, buttery brown croissants on the stove top. Then, we go into the living room to tell our family that we're leaving tonight.

 

(*~*)

 

"Good to have you back." Steve claps me on the back. He's wearing his Cap suit without the hood. Think I caught him between training sessions with the new recruits.

"Can't say it's good to be back," I grumble. The three-week recon mission had ended in a fire-fight, a lot of casualties, and two prisoners who'd suicided before Nat and I could get them to base. Fresh from the mission and brain dread from the debriefing, I'm ready to stumble to my dorm and crash for a week.

Steve gives me a long once-over. "You gonna make it to your dorm?"

"Maybe." If I don't, it'll be damned embarrassing. I yawn wide and shake myself awake. "I'll be fine. Hey—how's Wanda doing in practice? And the brat—he's good?"

Steve smiles. "Wanda's doing great. Her powers are amazing. We're still learning what all she can do with them, and she's not afraid to test them out. We just need to work on her physical abilities. Sharon's killing her in hand-to hand."

I wince. "But she's hanging in there?"

"Yeah. She's in good spirits," Steve says. "And Pietro's coming along. He's gained a little weight and the doctors took that tube-thing out of his stomach a few days ago. He's doing some light training to get his muscles back in order, but he's not gonna be suiting up with us anytime soon. He keeps flunking his psych evals."

I frown. "They saying he's depressed?"

"Anxiety," Steve says. "They say it'd be unsafe for him and for us to have him in the field until he works it out."

"Huh." I yawn again. "Where's he at now?"

"He and Sam went to McDonalds."

I laugh, letting it roll through my belly. Damn that feels good. "Free food?"

Steve shakes his head. "How'd you let that happen anyway?"

"Why does everybody blame me?" I grouse. "Who goes to Walmart to get shot at?" Enough. "Tell 'em I'm back, will ya?" I give Steve a nod and stumble to the elevator, heading for the dorm floor. 

Once in bed, I send a text off to Laura telling her I'm in one piece then fall into a black sleep until a heavy knock on the door has me bolting off the bed and into a fighting stance. Damn it all. I rub the kinks out of my neck and stretch, cracking my back. I make my way to the door and peer through the peep hole. Something's covering it. Cute. I open the door and throw a less than amused look at the twin Maximoffs slumming in my doorway.

They wear matching  _Aladdin on Broadway_  sweatshirts and blue jeans. Wanda's hair is shorter, cut at an angle to frame her face. Pietro's hair is longer, touching his shoulders, and if I'm not imagining things, there's more silver in it too. They both look good, faces fuller and flushed with more color, bodies more solid. Some of my jetlag leeches out of me at seeing that they're doing well.

Wanda beams at me and holds out a black shopping bag. I take it and peer inside. "A sweatshirt?"

"So we match," Wanda says. "We bought some for Laura, Lila and Cooper too. I wish they could have seen the play. It was beautiful."

Pietro looks heavenward. "It was okay."

"You loved it!" Wanda pushes him.

Pietro sighs and holds out a paper McDonald's bag to me. I take that a little more eagerly. My stomach growls as soon as the scent of fries and grease hits me. "Can we come in?" Pietro asks.

I back out of the doorway, going to the small metal table across from my mini-fridge and microwave set-up in my tiny kitchenette. My dorm's a little fancier than most because of my rank and seniority, I've got about 700 square feet of space to keep a full-sized bed, a couch, a decent entertainment center, and a private bathroom. The only thing I truly miss having is a kitchen to cook in. But ah well, that's what I go home for.

"Make yourselves at home."

I'm eating before I even set the bag on the table. The fries are so good. "You guys just got this?"

"After the play." Pietro drops onto my couch and turns on the TV. "We'd have invited you, but Steve said you needed a rest."

"You look terrible," Wanda says. She sits down across from me at the kitchen table. "Are you all right?"

I nod, inhaling the double cheeseburger. "Rough couple of weeks. I'll be fine. Steve says you guys are doing good. You look great. How are you settling into your dorm rooms and stuff?"

"It's okay. My room looks nice, and Pietro's room is a mess, but..." she wrinkles her nose, "I like our other room better. I miss the farm."

"Me too. I miss the company." Pietro sprawls over the length of the couch. "I played Smash Brothers co-op with Cooper last night."

"And then slept until noon and pissed off his physical therapist." Wanda goes to my mini-fridge and fishes out a bottle of water. Instead of looking pissed herself, she chuckles. "That lady can cuss."

"She shouldn't schedule me for PT before noon. It's evil."

"Don't blow off PT," I snap, finishing my burger and reaching in the bag for an apple pie.

"I don't," Pietro says. "I just want it to start later."

"Then you'd sleep all day," Wanda says. "You're lazy."

"I'm tired," Pietro groans. "All that stretching and jogging and lifting weights. Next week, she says we'll swim and 'climb the wall'."

I polish off my entire meal as the twins bicker without break. It feels so normal, like home away from home. If this is what it's going to feel like at work now, it's not so bad.

"What are you guys up to tomorrow— _after_  PT and Wanda's training?"

"Hanging out with you?" Pietro asks.

I snort. "Yeah. Let's do that." I yawn big. "Did you two call Laura tonight?"

"She's the one who told us to get you a sweatshirt and dinner," Wanda says.

"Okay." That's good. My energy levels plummet again as my stomach digests dinner. I make my way back over to the bed and fall face first onto it.

I hear them whispering and the sounds of chairs moving.

"See you in the morn—" Wanda starts to say, but I cut her off.

"Stay for a while. I like falling asleep to noise. Makes me think I'm at home. I sleep better there." I drift, listening to them moving around the room and arguing softly over what to watch on TV.

I'll probably get a call from Fury early tomorrow morning. He'll want to know even more information about the last mission, but he won't keep me long. I'll take some down time and poke around in the daily doings of the twins, so I can report it to Laura. I trust Steve, yeah, and the kids say they're fine, but I have to see it for myself. Make sure Wanda's not pushing herself too hard, and figure out what's going on in the brat's head that's got him so anxious. Then I'll go home for a little while and hopefully, in a few weeks, the twins will be able to join me. I'll see to that.

God. I give myself so much work to do. But it's all in the line of duty, I guess. Being Papa Clint isn't easy, but it's damn satisfying at the end of the day.

"Pietro! I'm not watching any more  _Grey's Anatomy_!"

"But they've got the new season on Netflix!"

I chuckle softly and roll onto my side, losing out to sleep as the theme to  _Grey's Anatomy_  begins.


	13. Moving Forward

_Wanda Maximoff_

 

Babies are slippery no matter what they're wrapped in. I nearly dropped little Nathaniel twice the first time I held him a few days ago, but for some reason Laura and Clint keep leaving me alone with him.

I don't think Nathaniel likes me. He squirms and wriggles and whines in my arms, his baby gray eyes stormy when they lock onto mine. Laura tells me that he really can't see me very well yet, but I think he sees me just fine. There's something very wise behind those eyes.

Nathaniel squalls and his big baby head rocks backward so hard I have trouble supporting it. His arms and legs flail. "Shh... baby," I plead and look to Pietro for help.

He's already crossing the room to take the baby. Nathaniel quiets as soon as he's in Pietro's arms. Nathaniel likes my brother. I don't know why.

"He likes the way I smell," Pietro says softly, cradling Nathaniel and gazing down on him, seeming absolutely intrigued. "At four and half weeks, babies still recognize people better by scent."

"Are you saying I stink?"

"He smells your fear," Pietro says, sounding off-hand and casual. He winks at me and bounces a happy, cooing baby.

The nursery is on the second floor next door to Lila's room. The walls are lined with soft green paper and every corner is crowded with stuffed animals and baby contraptions. It's like an exotic zoo. There's even a cage for the baby—a wooden crib fashioned by Clint himself. All of his children slept in it.

"You, Little Pietro, are the best baby in the world," Pietro tells Nathaniel as the baby seems to listen with rapt attention.

"His name is Nathaniel," I stress.

"Plenty of people choose to go by their middle names, especially if their middle names are cool." Pietro looks down his nose at me, and then turns his attention back to the baby. He raises Nathaniel up and blows on his onesie covered belly. "You are so lucky you're a boy or you would have been named Natasha. Lucky, lucky baby!"

"You know." Both Pietro and I jerk at the sound of Natasha's voice from the door. She leans in the frame, holding a baby monitor in one hand and nodding to the corresponding monitor next to Nathaniel's crib. "I can poison you in such a way that no one would ever know you didn't die from natural causes."

Pietro brings Nathaniel's head to rest on his shoulder and smirks at Natasha. "There's more than one receiver to that thing I hope you know, and Laura keeps one of them in her pocket at all times. So, tell me again how you're going to kill me."

Natasha gives a creepy grin that makes my skin crawl.

"Shut up, Pietro," I say. "Ignore him. His psychiatrist says he's not ready for human interaction quite yet."

"My psychiatrist says I'm darling," Pietro counters.

"And there goes all confidence I ever had in her expert opinion," I snort.

"You just don't like her, because you think she has a crush on me."

"That woman is 56 years old." And I know she has a crush on him, but she's not going to do anything about it. "You would think you'd have learned your lesson after—"

"Oh my God! Can you never mention that again?" Pietro's hand encompasses the baby's head as if to protect it. "Little Pietro doesn't need to hear it either."

"Do you two ever stop?" Natasha asks, coming to Pietro and stretching her arms out to take Nathaniel. "All you do is bicker." Pietro shifts the baby into Natasha's arms. Nathaniel gurgles but doesn't cry with Natasha either.

"We're not bickering," Pietro and I say in unison.

Natasha shakes her head. "Lunch time, Natty. Let's go," she purrs to the baby.

"Natty?" Pietro makes a disgusted face.

"Better than something lame, like Little Pee-Pee." She gives that creepy grin again and leaves the room with the baby.

Pietro glowers after her. "Little Pee-Pee my ass." He mutters a string of curses in Sokovian. "How does Clint work with that lady?"

Clint and Natasha work together like a finely tuned machine. They know each other's moves and follow each other's logic like they're of one mind on missions. I got to practice with them once. They're scary in assassin-sniper mode. But I'm not going to share this with Pietro, instead I say, "I don't know, but you better figure it out. You're going to be in her boot camp two weeks from now."

"Don't remind me." Pietro goes to the picture window across from the crib and stares out at the farmland. He's still lean, but a firm healthy lean, corded with returning muscle tone. His doctors and physical therapist won't let him run full out yet, but it's only a matter of time. He's better, stronger... and still fighting his personal demons without me. But he's got a shrink, it seems to be helping. The darkness that comes into his eyes sometimes has lightened.

"I got Steve for boot camp," I tease. "I've heard that he's much easier. Natasha's goal is to wash out as many new recruits as she can in one fell swoop."

He sneers at me over his shoulder. "I didn't finally pass that stupid psych evaluation to flunk out of Natasha's class."

I frown at him. I don't want to make him clam up on me, but I want to know about his sessions with the psychiatrist. Clint knows a lot, but he's honor-bound to keep Pietro's secrets. I'm so glad he talks to Clint I can't even be angry, though I can't help being jealous. But swallowing my jealously and curbing my urges to nag and prod Pietro has actually brought us closer. Now that he trusts me not to bother him about things that hurt, and not act like his mother, he seeks out my company more.

Pietro turns, leaning back on the window and propping his elbows on the sill. "I don't know though. I might flunk out completely. I'm still..."

I don't speak and keep my face blank, trying not to appear too eager. Yes, yes, talk to me, sweetheart.

"I'm still afraid to run," he finally says. "I—I tried it for the first time a few days ago, before we came here. It was terrible. Everything around me stopped moving completely and it took so long for this world to back into focus." He shakes his head. "I don't want to get stuck in that place." His eyes are large and dark, haunted.

I move closer to him, taking his face in my hands. "When you've gone to that place, did you ever try to call to me, with your mind?"

Pietro shakes his head. "I don't want it not to work, so I don't try."

"Try," I say gently, stroking his smooth cheek. "Wherever you are, I can find you and bring you back. I proved that once before, didn't I?"

He snorts out a weak laugh. "You did."

"Call to me, and I'll respond. I'll talk to you until you can get back to us, and if you can't find the way on your own—well, we do work with a team of geniuses. We'll find a way. No need for worries."

  
"You sound like Dr. Menden," Pietro says. "She used to be a cheerleader, you know."

"Will you stop talking about that 50 year-old woman! Or should I remind you about—" Pietro clamps a hand over my mouth and I lick his palm.

"Argh!" Pietro snatches his hand back and stares at it and me with revulsion. He wipes it on my shirt. A mischievous glint comes into his eyes, the darkness all gone. "I'm going to tell Laura."

"You go right ahead. She's not going to be thinking about you while she's breastfeeding the baby!"

"Want to bet on that?" He clicks his teeth and strides out of the room.

I stare after him. Is he serious? I poke my head out of the room and see him starting down the stairs. That little... I jog after him, but even at his slowest he's faster than me. I burst into the family room to find him on a blanket on the floor with Lila, picking up an  _Ever After High_  doll. Laura and Clint sit on the couch, Laura feeding Nathaniel. Natasha plays Pokémon cards with Cooper. Bruce Banner adjusts logs in the fireplace, looking quite the lumberjack in corduroy pants and a checkered shirt.

"Hi Wanda!" Lila calls, waving me over to her blanket.

I join her and Pietro, all the while trying to catch my twin's eye. Pietro looks over at me with a wink. "You know what Pietro?" I ask, pitching my voice so everyone can hear.

"What?" Pietro smiles at me and looks over his shoulder, probably to make sure Laura's listening should I threaten him.

"I agree with Clint."

"Huh?" Pietro draws a blank.

Now everyone in the room stares at me. Guess it's not often for people in this house to agree with Clint. I laugh at their expressions, feeling warm and welcome. It's good to be home again. I love these people—even Natasha and Bruce... and perhaps the baby too.

"What do you agree with me on?" Clint sounds suspicious.

Everyone leans in.

"That Pietro's a brat!"

Clint beams, Laura laughs, Natasha rolls her eyes, Bruce shakes his head, Cooper jumps up to defend Pietro who's pretending to look hurt, and Lila hands me a doll.

"Here, you can be her. She's my favorite and so are you."

  
I kiss her cheek, and stick my tongue out at my sputtering brother.

"This calls for something special," Clint says, rising to his feet.

"Seriously, Old Man? She gets presents for insulting me?" Pietro asks, sprawling over the floor like a wounded man.

"For exposing the truth!" Clint corrects him. "I think I'm in the mood to make sweet potato pie."

Laura whoops. "If I'd known agreeing with you would get me pie, I might have admitted to liking that wallpaper you put up in the bathroom last year. And speaking of wallpaper, when are you going to get started on Wanda's room?"

I grin at the pole-axed expression on Clint's face.

"We just had a baby, I'm making pie—" Clint starts.

" _I_  just had a baby..."

I glance over at Natasha, wondering how she accepts bickering from Clint and Laura, and chuckle at her amused grin. Her mind seems happy and comforted. Clint and Laura's bickering is familiar and friendly. After she gets to know us better, she might react the same way to Pietro and me bickering.

"Clint just needs to accept defeat and go make pie," Pietro grumbles loud enough to be heard.

"Now see here you little smart ass—"

"Dad!" Cooper gives Clint a look of disapproval better than any Laura could ever give, and shakes his head. "Language!"

Lila levels Clint with this patented look that only she can do which seems to question Clint's intellectual competence. Clint's mouth drops open as he stares at his offspring, floundering for words.

Natasha lets out an honest to God snort as she laughs and Laura and Bruce join her.

Pietro folds his arms over his chest with a superior grin. "Didn't see that one coming, did you Old—ah!"

A couch pillow nails Pietro between the eyes. There's no doubt in my mind that he could have dodged it, but why would he when Laura is watching?

"Clint!" Laura snaps, and rounds on Clint, nursing an infant and disciplining a grown man simultaneously as the Natasha, Bruce, Cooper and Pietro, recovered from his pillow "injury", laugh.

I smile at the scene—my family.

If things had happened any differently, I might not have this now—and I no longer feel guilty for thinking this way. There were so many mistakes made, so many lines crossed, and I know that I wouldn't choose to follow this same path if I could go back. But you know what, I don't care. I can't go back in time, so this is my reality, and it's not so bad.

I brush my doll's hair and decide what she's going to wear on her first date while Lila tells me the doll's back-story over a soundtrack of friendly arguments and laughter.

A hand touches my elbow and I trade smiles with Pietro. He rests his chin on my thigh and I lean forward, planting a kiss in his hair.

_Thank you,_ soră.

/You're welcome,  _dragă_./

 

THE END

Story to be continued in the sequel:  _Sidelines_. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> So, what did you think? Like it? Hate it? Don't care about the story either way? Any way you liked it, let me know! Please leave a comment. Thanks and take care!


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